The Mending Of The Ways
by losamantesclandestinos
Summary: Olivia Benson has finally started to find happiness in a most unexpected way when an old threat from her past comes back to haunt her. Tuckson.
1. Chapter 1

_**The Mending Of The Ways**_

**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Dick Wolf and NBC.

**Author's Note**_: Normally, I'm a pretty big Barson shipper. But I've decided to branch out and try Tuckson. Any OOC-ness or weirdness is purely mine. I'd like to give a huge shout out to bellatrix wannabe 89 whose Tuckson fic has really inspired me. Go read it. Amazing._

_Dialogue from the show in bold italic._

You can't believe he's finally gone.

The evidence was pretty stark and clear. And you've seen a lot of bodies in your time at the precinct. Way too many. More than your soul could ever handle but you never tell anyone that. Anyone but Lindstrom, that is. He's seen into your soul and he knows you pretty well by now.

William Lewis is really dead. And this time he won't be pulling any miraculous escape. Death is the one country from which no one returns.

He's really gone.

They had told you the time of death but you didn't really need to know that. It's seared into your brain and sometimes you can still see the blood and pieces of brain matter on your skin when you look into your mirror. You scrub and scrub and scrub until your skin is raw but some stains just run too deep.

And blood never really does come out. Sometimes it stains you right to the bone. You know that better than anyone else.

_There's so much blood._

And you don't want to remember.

You reach for another glass of cabernet at your favorite bar. It's a small one, not too fancy – you are really not too comfortable in the type of upscale bars/restaurants where you've spent some time with Rafael Barba. He likes the fancy things but that's not your thing.

It really never has been. Even getting dressed up for a date feels unnatural, like you're putting on someone else's skin. It's almost a relief when you can slip into the uncomfortable polyester of your NYPD uniform. At least that's something familiar. And you're not pretending to be someone else.

_He's really dead. _

It's _over_. Finally.

Is it, though? Can it be that simple?

"Thought I'd find you here, sergeant." A gruff voice interrupts your thoughts.

You don't have to turn around to know who was standing there. You've heard that voice far too many times. And usually not under ideal circumstances.

_Oh, good, my day just got better._

"Tucker." You say dryly. "What's my squad done this time?"

"Why do you always assume that you're in trouble?" If you didn't know better, you could have sworn there was a trace of amusement in his voice.

But that wasn't possible. Was it?

Not Lieutenant Tucker. You have serious doubts he's laughed or smiled a day in his life.

So you merely give him a look, the Benson side-eye usually shuts up people. But this is Tucker. You should have known a simple look wouldn't stop him.

"Do I really need to answer that?" _Fuck, his eyes…they're really blue._

_Ok, now where did that come from?_

"Relax, Benson, I'm not here to arrest you. Not today, anyway." His mouth actually tips up in something that vaguely resembles a smile.

"Then what are you here for?" You demand, a little bitchily.

"I was thirsty. Wanted a drink. I like this place." He doesn't elaborate. But that's Tucker. Never a man to use five words when three would do. "Mind if I sit?"

"I'm not stopping you." You shrug, not really caring if he does or doesn't. But if you're really honest with yourself, you _are_ a little curious about what he wants.

"Not a yes but I'll take it." Lieutenant Tucker gestures for the bartender. "I'll take an Eagle Rare straight up, no rocks."

"And here I thought you were a beer man."

"Can't stand the stuff. I just drink it to be polite. Now _this_, " he says, lifting the glass of golden amber, "is the real deal."

"I learn something new every day." You take another sip from your wine, trying to fill in the conversational gaps because it's still a bit awkward, you and him, just sitting there in some kind of weird détente. For several minutes, you say nothing at all. What _do_ you say to someone you've not only unconsciously assumed has hated you for so many years but whom you've rather despised? Because let's be honest, _no one _ likes IAB, the _rat squad_, as some of your colleagues have called them.

However, the more rational side of you keeps reminding you that it was _only_ a job he had to do. That you didn't have some "IAB, please kick me" sign on your back and you really shouldn't hate Tucker because it wasn't his fault.

Perspective: the thing you get when you take your blinders off.

"Well, you must be relieved." He says casually before you have a chance to start some random chit-chat to get rid of the awkward tension in the air.

"Yes. I am." You don't even need to ask to what he's referring.

"William Lewis did the world a favor."

_And_ you do a double-take. Somewhere people in hell are breaking out their winter parkas.

"Are you saying you believe me now?"

"I did not find sufficient evidence to dispute your version of events." That's all he says. Just like before.

And it hits you like a punch to the gut.

_He believes you._

"If anyone asks me, I will deny ever saying this but I would have done the same thing." He looks at you with something like sympathy and understanding in his eyes.

_Do what? Lie under oath? Admit about lying about it? Beat Lewis to a bloody pulp?_

You don't know to what he's referring so you simply say nothing. Years of ingrained distrust of IAB and their games make you hesitant to really reveal anything if you don't need to and this friendly Ed Tucker is still a bit of an enigma, so you choose to keep your mouth shut.

_**Play the game here.**_

_**The truth doesn't always set you free**_.

"I don't know what you're talking about." There. That's a safe answer.

"Sure you don't." Clearly, he's skeptical but he doesn't push. "This bourbon's really good; you should try it."

"Never been much of a bourbon person myself, never really liked the taste." You admit.

He pushes a glass over.

"Drink."

"You always this bossy?" You cock an eyebrow at him.

"I call it direct. Small talk isn't really my forte."

"I see that." You take a small sip. And it's good. Tastes of leather, mint, summer and chocolate. Seems impossible to have so many distinct flavors in one glass but somehow it happens and it delights you.

"I told you."

Rolling your eyes, you push his glass back to him. "It's good. You're right."

For what feels like forever but which is only a few minutes, you both sit in silence, both nursing your drinks, deep in thought. And this time the silence doesn't feel that uncomfortable. But you're still a little confused as to why he's being this friendly.

IAB never does _anything_ without some kind of reason.

"You think the Cubs have any chance this year?" Tucker abruptly changes the subject.

_What the hell?_

"You like the Cubs?" You're a little surprised. Baseball isn't your thing at all but he always struck you as being a Yankees fan. You'd heard rumors through the NYPD gossip mill that he liked Derek Jeter. Just water cooler talk that you hadn't really paid much attention to at the time.

"You sound shocked."

"Well, I don't know baseball… but aren't they the ones that will never win the World Series because they're cursed or something? Never figured you for backing the loser."

"What can I say?" He drains his drink. "I'm a sucker for the underdog."

"You're an interesting man, Tucker."

"The name's Ed."

"Well, _Ed_, what's this all about?" You gesture at the two of you, sitting there, drinking… as if the years of animosity had fallen away, the old grudges and seeming hatred seemingly not so important anymore. While you had certainly not forgotten them, they just seemed …irrelevant at the moment.

"Do I have to have a reason?" Tucker asks.

"IAB does nothing without a reason." You say shortly. "At least, that's been my experience."

"I'm not IAB right now. Just a regular guy having a drink with an attractive woman."

At the adjective _attractive_, your brain seems to short-wire a little. Did Ed Tucker, the recipient of _many_ squad room curse words, really just say you were attractive?

You're pretty sure your jaw just hit the ground and you quickly check the reflection from the bar mirror to make sure. Nope. Mouth closed.

Dignity salvaged. At least for now.

"I don't know about you," he continues, "but I'm hungry. Want to grab a bite? They got some decent food here."

Your evening couldn't get any more bizarre. And, yet, you don't mind.

**TWO HOURS LATER**

The food is delicious, somewhat surprisingly. You've really only come here for the drinks and occasionally munching on the usual nachos and salsa. With all the stress and tension, you've forgotten how hungry you were and you've managed to polish off your burger in about ten minutes.

He orders a chicken Caesar salad and a bowl of clam chowder, which seems a little odd for you, given that you figured him for a meat and potatoes kind of guy. And you say so because apparently the bourbon has removed a little bit of your filter.

"Bad experience at a subpar steakhouse." Is all he says when your food arrives.

He tells you about his life in the Boston PD. _The weather was colder than a witch's tits and some of the people…not much better. After a while, it just sucks the life out of you. _And you see a look in his eyes and on his face that you've seen on the faces of too many people who have lost everything.

It's a face you see staring back at you in your mirror.

You tell him some weird stories from some of your earlier cases. And, of course, when an old name comes up, he can't help but make a jab. Because he's still Tucker. Not the Saint Ed of IAB.

"That partner of yours - Stabler - he was a real prick."

"For the record," You stare at him, a little pissed, "the feeling was mutual." You and El had your issues but you'd be damned if you let Tucker talk smack about your old partner. The one who still had a piece of you.

Who always would.

"I was there to do my job. Not to win a popularity contest."

"Well, if there _was _one, you would have come in last place. Or maybe they would have invented a "negative place" category just for you. I lost track of the times El wanted to plant a fist in your face."

"Just Stabler?" He smirks a little, as if he knows very well how often _you_ wanted to just throttle him.

"Can you blame us…er..him?" You said in exasperation.

"Nope. Benson, it was never anything personal." He takes a long sip from his drink. "Can't be seen to be protectin' killer cops."

"We..I… wasn't a killer! You should have trusted me."

"Let me ask you something. If you had a suspect with evidence as strong against them as the evidence was against you, would _you_ have taken their word for it?"

He has you there.

"Fair enough." You say grudgingly.

"Must be my lucky day. You're agreeing with me." His eyes crinkle in a faint smile of amusement.

"Don't get used to it." You grumble, but you can't help but smile a little.

His eyes soften. And there's something in them that throws you a little, and something in your chest loosens. And something flutters – but you blame it on heartburn.

That's easier.

_He's got really amazing eyes. He should smile more._

"How's he doin' anyways?" Tucker asks, just to be polite.

"El?" You choke a little. You weren't expecting that. But it's Tucker and again, well, he's not so great at the small talk. And it's just a little amusing because it's clear he really doesn't give a fuck about how Elliot is doing. But that's the only thing that amuses you.

_**Elliot put in his papers**_.

Even now it hurts. It's been over two years now and you've finally accepted that he's not going to return your calls, that he's not going to just walk through the door, coffees in hand with a tired smile on his fac. That he's truly left that part of his life behind. Including you.

Especially you.

Even now, thinking about it, something in you breaks. Always does keep breaking.

Being cut out hurts.

_**I'm your partner, for better or worse**__._

He looks at you narrowly.

"Sore subject?"

_Damn, that man is perceptive._

"Just a little." You shrug, like it's no big deal. "We haven't talked in… well, a long time." The last few words come out soft and he can barely hear you. You smile, but you know it's tight and that it doesn't touch your eyes. "It's okay, life happens, things change, we move on."

_You never step in the same river twice. _Munch had quoted this to you once, right after he put in his papers. Everything changes. And _**nothing changes, except what has to**_.

_Let's not talk about this._

"His loss." Tucker says simply and takes another sip of his drink. And he doesn't bring up Stabler again.

But you both keep talking and before you know it, it's last call.

Surprisingly, you've had a wonderful time. And, for a change, Lewis hasn't been the dominating force in your mind. Hasn't been the dominating subject of conversation.

Hasn't consumed you. And it feels so liberating.

_**Olivia, it's time to let Lewis go**_**.**

"Well, this has definitely been interesting, Ed." You say, sliding on your coat, and reaching for your credit card to pay your bill.

"It's on me, Benson." Tucker slides his credit card to the bartender.

"I owe you one." You thank him.

"Not at all. It's been a pleasure." And the look in his eyes gets a little more intense. But it doesn't scare you. Not at all. And the fluttering in your chest, which you'd attributed to heartburn, increases at what you see in them.

"Gotta say I've always respected you, Sergeant." He says. "It's not an easy path you've had. Takes a lot of strength to keep it together."

He raises his glass and tips his head to you. And something about that very simple gesture starts to break the walls you've built up since Lewis.

"You're right about it not being easy." You say. "I can't deny that when I see the kids in the squad room and think about this past year, I get tired. So tired." Your voice cracks a little. "Not sure how much longer I can keep doing this."

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for." He says, remarkably sympathetic. "My pop used to do a lot of sailing when he was younger. 'Ed,' he'd say, 'sometimes the waters are gonna be rough. You just need to adjust your sails.' You're a strong sailor, Sergeant Benson, just keep adjusting those sails. Remember, you can always catch your breath in harbor."

It's the longest speech you've really heard him say.

"Thanks, Tucker." You still have a tough time calling him _Ed_, he'll always be _Tucker _to you. "By the way," you smile, "I think it's time you call me Olivia."

This time his smile's a little wider than a smirk. "I'll keep that in mind. Can I walk to you to your car?"

You smile and nod. You're perfectly capable of making it to your car on your own but the chivalry 's appreciated.

The night is cold but you don't mind. It's clear out and you can see the stars. And for the first time in a long time, you can enjoy them. The night isn't something to totally dread. The two of you walk in companionable silence, neither of you feeling like you need to say a word.

"We should do this again sometime." He says when you reach your car.

"You sure about that? I'm a tough person to deal with. Ask my squad." You laugh, a little nervously, because something's changing and it's throwing you off stride because where's the asshole you loved to hate?

He sure isn't here.

"Oh, I have." And you start to get pissed off again because he better _not _have asked your squad and then you realize he's actually teasing you.

Oh, okay, then.

"Well, you know where to find me." You smile at him. _Holy hell, I'm flirting with Ed Tucker. He's the __enemy._

But, no, he really isn't. And, if you're honest with yourself, he hasn't been in a long time.

"Yeah, I do." The corner of his mouth turns up. "And I'll be looking forward to the next time."

And, before you can say anything, he pulls you into him and puts his mouth on yours. And it's hot, and it tastes of bourbon, and of clam chowder, and a little undercurrent of spice. And you're warm and safe and, holy hell, it's so good. _And you're kissing him back_.

But you're not really too startled or surprised because you've realized that this whole evening has been leading to this. But what has been surprising is that you've not been dreading it at all. You've wanted it.

And it feels so good; so very, very fucking good.

That'll teach you to judge a book by its IAB cover.

Before you could really get into it, he releases you.

"Just thought I'd give you something to think about." He smiles slightly. "Goodnight, Sergeant. Until next time."

He walks away, his boots making a crunching noise on the fallen leaves.

_Maybe it's not always trying to fix something broken. Maybe it's about starting over and creating something better._


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note**: So The Mending Of The Ways was just going to be a one-shot. But it's calling for more. _

_So, behold, chapter two. Characters are not mine, story is. Any mistakes and OOC-ness is due to my complete inexperience at writing this ship. Thanks for understanding._

Chapter 2

"And remember that Morris case?" Amaro asks, sipping from a glass of water. He doesn't drink anything harder than Coke these days after Yusef's shooting. You can't be too careful with IAB breathing down your neck. And Nick is always looking over his shoulder.

"That was a rough one." Rollins replies, giving Nick a considering look. You give both of them a raised eyebrow. They both think they've been so subtle, that no one would pick up on what was going on. You've not missed a beat.

In a way they remind you of kids. Kids think they're so very smart when they're sneaking and trying to get away with things. But they have this funny blind spot where they seem to think that parents can't sense anything at all. Always makes the looks on their faces when you call them out so much more entertaining.

"You handled that vic really good, though, Nick." Rollins adds.

"Not well enough." Nick broods over his water. "I didn't get her to tell me anything useful."

"She was a tough one." Rollins tries to be encouraging. "It'll go better next time."

"Don't patronize me, Rollins." Amaro says gruffly.

"Okay, okay." She raises her hands. "Someone's in a touchy mood tonight."

And this is how it's been for the last few weeks. So much tension and crabbiness in the squad room. Frankly, it's getting on your nerves and you really don't know how to handle it without yelling at them all to just grow the fuck up. And you rub your temples. _This better not be another goddamned migraine coming on. How the hell did Cragen deal with us all?_

Between mothering Noah and the squad, you've been drained. There's nothing in the world that makes you happier than your foster son but dealing with all the squad's drama? God, sometimes you really wanted to hit your head against the wall of your office.

This evening out with Amaro and Rollins was your way to try to tamp down the emotions that have been at fever pitch for the last several weeks. Maybe it wasn't the best idea...

You would think that Nick and Amanda would be a little happier given that they've been doing what you think they have been doing. But, no, they've been fighting with each other for the last two weeks and, dammit, you are about ready to haul their asses into the office and read them the riot act. One PP has been up your ass and you are not in the mood with their shenanigans.

"Rollins, Amaro," you say, "do you two know how to have fun? No shop talk for the rest of the night, is that understood? Go play some darts, or pool, or something."

_For the love of God, just do something other than sniping at one another. Get a room or something. _

But you don't say that because it would be inappropriate and unprofessional.

"Okay, Sarge," Rollins says in that subdued voice that usually indicates she knows that's she's on your last nerve and is trying to avoid the blow-up. "Sorry." And she and Amaro both quickly get up, realizing that it's probably best to do what you say. So they head off somewhere.

You don't really care where at this point.

And now you're on your own, sipping that delicious bourbon, remembering the last time you had it...

"Sergeant Benson." You know that voice. Couldn't mistake it anywhere. And you're a little nervous because you remember what happened the last time you saw this person.

"Lieutenant Tucker." You force a smile on your face, but you're slightly amused by the suspicious looks that Nick and Amanda are casting your way. In their experience – well, in your experience too, for the most part – any time Ed Tucker shows up, it usually means bad news.

Except that things have changed.

And they don't know.

You're content to keep it that way.

"What can I do for you?" You say, trying to tamp down that little fluttering in your stomach that seems to appear every time you see him now. _Goddamn hormones_.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" His face is still impassive, goddamn him, but there's a very slight twinkle in his eyes.

"Lay it on me, Tucker. Which one of my squad is in trouble this time? Do I need to call their rep?"

"Take a walk with me, Sergeant." He says abruptly. "The kids will be fine." He must have seen your glance over at Rollins and Amaro engaged in a heated discussion.

You roll your eyes at him but you have to admit, you're a little bit curious about what he wants. You've not talked to him since that night at the bar after being cleared by the grand jury. Your palms are a little sweaty but it's also hot in here.

At least that's what you're telling yourself.

So you take one last glance at Nick and Amanda and, seeing that they're not at each other's throats, you decide to walk with Tucker.

"What's this about, Ed?" Now you're out of the building and you can say his name without the fear of someone overhearing and thinking you are out of your mind. And the two of you walk into a nearby alley – it's dark and private and oddly quiet.

"I want to see you again." He looks at you and his blue eyes – _God, are they so blue_ – are unreadable.

"You are seeing me again." You decide to go the obtuse route because this game is a little fun.

"Don't play me for a fool." There's a hint of a smile in his voice and the craggy lines in his face soften. He's handsome when he almost smiles. "I think we're both too old for games, don't you?"

"It depends what kind of games you're talking about." Annnnd you can't believe you just said that.

It's pretty chilly out but all of a sudden you feel very, _very_ warm.

He cocks an eyebrow at you.

And your throat is so dry. All of a sudden you wish you'd had more water because this is so, so awkward and what do you do next?

Only a complete blind man would miss your sudden awkwardness, but Tucker decides to cut you some slack.

"Do you like baseball?"

Your jaw drops.

"Careful, you might catch some flies doing that." Now he's definitely teasing you and you're not 100% sure how you feel about that. But you think you feel pretty good.

"I watch it on tv sometimes but I haven't been to a game in a long time." _Try never_.

"I have tickets to a Yankees game this Saturday. We should go."

You like how he just lays it out there. Short, simple, no attempt at persuasion. Leaving it completely up to you. Baseball's never really been your thing but the few times you've watched, you've enjoyed it. But what if someone saw you? What if One PP got wind of it...what if your squad found out...what if... aw, what the hell?

"Okay."

Now he smiles a little bit, he hasn't missed your hesitation. _Fucking IAB cops, they don't miss a single damn thing._

And he's moving closer to you and you're nervous and not nervous at the same time.

"You're an interesting person, Benson, I'd really like to get to know you better. Off the job."

"Isn't that a conflict of interest?"

"Doesn't have to be." He says simply as if that settles it. And it does. For now.

He pulls you into him and he's tall but not too tall, just perfect for you. And before you know it, his mouth is on yours and he's kissing you and it's hot and dry and tastes like bourbon and autumn and chocolate and cinnamon and god your knees are melting underneath you. 

The first kiss he gave you was good.

This one is spectacular.

Starting off gently, his mouth slides over yours, he's not too forceful in the beginning because he doesn't want to startle you. But you've been ready for this since you saw him walk through the door. So you grab his jacket and pull him into you. And then he gets more demanding, his tongue thrusting into your mouth, tangling with yours. And you're hot and you're wet and holy god how does he make you feel like sun and rain and heat and sex just from one kiss?

You want to fuck him up against the alley wall and you're a little surprised at yourself because you're a responsible mother now and commanding officer and you don't really _do_ that (because getting caught for public indecency really isn't your thing) and where did that thought even come from? But you find yourself gliding your hand down the front of his slacks and he's so hard and that makes you even hotter. And he groans a little, not very loudly... just a little rumble. Enough for you to know that you've gotten to him.

And he's gotten to you.

All of a sudden the two of you are making out like horny teenagers. Although you're not so lost to reason that you both don't keep an eye on the alley and try to make it look like you're just involved in a really, _really_ intense conversation.

He has you against the alley wall and one of his hands has gently slid under your cotton shirt and cupped your breast. Holy hell, where did he learn to do _that_ with his hands? And you slide your hands underneath his coat and around his back, feeling his muscles underneath your fingers, even through the shirt. You inhale sharply and you almost, _almost, _tell him to just fuck you right then and there because you want to come _so_ badly..your legs are shaking and his hand is at the crotch of your pants and it's just enough pressure that if he moves it just enough, you'll explode.

Holy hell, you've forgotten how great this could be. And this is just kissing in a dark alley...

_I wonder what he's like in bed?And could we go there now, please?_

You pull back slightly because this is getting a little out of hand and fucking in an alley way would be just awkward and uncomfortable and there'd be bruises and cuts in very strange places. And, really, you've got to pull yourself together.

"Ed...I need to breathe." You smile so he doesn't take offense.

And he gives you a real smile. It's not a big one, he doesn't do the big beaming smile thing, that's not him. But it's enough to thaw the ice in his blue eyes.

"There. I gave you thirty seconds. Is that enough time for you?" He smirks a little.

There's really only one acceptable answer to that question.

You kiss him.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: _Story earns its M rating here. You've been warned. ;) Lyrics from Old Crow Medicine Show's 'Wagon Wheel.'

Chapter 3: **Regarding Home Runs and Cracker Jacks**

_And I'm a hopin' for Raleigh_  
_I can see my baby tonight_

…_..._

_So rock me mama like a wagon wheel_  
_Rock me mama anyway you feel_

_Rock me mama like the wind and the rain_  
_Rock me mama like a south-bound train_

You wake up completely refreshed. You can't remember the last time that happened. Maybe in your early thirties? Before the job and the toll it began to take on you. You stretch only to find out that you feel rather magnificently sore. And you wonder why that is…and you roll over only to have your face almost collide with someone's bare back.

_Oh my God. What the fuck did you do? Or, rather, WHO the fuck did you do?_

"Good morning, Benson."

Holy shit, you didn't.

You turn around to see the face of your long time nemesis looking at you somewhat bemused. As if he knows exactly what's going through your head and he's completely and thoroughly amused by your panic.

Holy shit, you really, really _did_.

What now? What the hell are you going to say? _Wow, that was fucking amazing and can we do it again? Wait, no, did that just come out of your mouth? (_Luckily for you, it hasn't.) How the _hell _are you going to salvage this situation?

You just slept with Ed Tucker. Just fucked him six ways from Sunday. And from the way your body is feeling, from the bits and pieces coming back to memory, it was fucking better than you ever imagined. Not that you had imagined it all that much because for years you'd hated him. But apparently he hadn't hated you. Not nearly.

_I was just doing my job._

And, goddammit, if you weren't getting hot and wet again. Damn you, Ed Tucker. Damn him and you'll probably be damned too when the squad finds out what you've been doing. _They never have to know_, that little voice inside you whispers. _It's not like this is serious or anything. No need for disclosure. This is just a one time thing._

Sure it is.

And your partner is also not fucking Amanda Rollins.

It'd all started rather innocuously. After that last kiss outside the bar, you'd decided to take Tucker up on his offer of a baseball game. Turns out he had some pretty prime seats, right behind home plate. Even you knew those seats were prime baseball real estate and you remember asking him how he'd gotten them. He hadn't told you, simply smiled and said something about having to keep some secrets.

You find yourself slightly ashamed at remembering how you had stolen all of Tucker's popcorn because, damn, that stuff was good. And you'd had more than a couple beers. There's just some magic and mystique about a baseball game, something that makes you want to eat all the Cracker Jack popcorn and the hot dogs and the cotton candy, stand up and wave an American flag, and belt out 'Sweet Caroline' at the top of your lungs.

Not that you did _any _of that.

Okay, you did. Because sometimes it's good to remember what it was like to be young and carefree again. It's been such a long time since you were that little girl.

Baseball works a strange magic over you. So, maybe, you can blame the baseball (or the Cracker Jacks) for what came next.

It was a good game. Yankees won. And Tucker looks completely disgruntled because he hates the Yankees.

"Cubs would have fucking blown these losers out of the water." He grumbles.

"Why, Tucker," you tease, "I never would have pegged you for a sore loser. Oh, wait…"

He gives you a glare but there's a slight twinkle in his eye. He appreciates a good burn. You both do.

"Didn't think you liked baseball." He grins slightly. "Or Cracker Jacks."

"I didn't think so either." You confess, looking down at your empty box and now his empty box. "They are good, aren't they?"

"I wouldn't know." He says, looking at his empty box, "You ate them all."

You smile ruefully. "I got caught up in the moment, what can I say?"

"Come on, admit it, Benson, you got a sweet tooth."

"I plead the fifth."

And you look at him and smile. "This has been great, Tucker. Can't remember last time I had such a good time."

"Can't beat baseball for real magic." He says with a slight smile. "Always loved a good game. Reminds me of being a kid again."

"I know what you mean. We see a lot of crap in our line of work. Sometimes it's just good to forget and remember." You say, looking out at the now-empty stands and remembering the little girl who used to make snow angels and dance in the rain. Before she had to grow up.

And you smile.

"Where did all the people go?" You say, all of a sudden really noticing that everyone else had gone. And it was just you and Tucker - dammit, you're having a tough time calling him _Ed_, it just feels strange.

"Nice of them to give us some privacy." Tucker smirks.

And the flutter in your stomach is back as he just looks at you.

"To hell with this. No one's lookin'." He puts his hand on the back of your neck and pulls you in for a hot kiss.

Before you know it, you're kissing him back too and it's hot and smoky and tastes a little bit like beer and Cracker Jacks and holy hell you've gone from zero to sixty in about .005 seconds. It's a goddamned scientific miracle.

Both of you manage to stop kissing each other enough to stand up and make your way up the stands. The stadium seems to be completely deserted. You've caught sight of a couple security guards but they don't really say anything to you, just nod at you both and encourage you to be on your way.

But you're not ready to be on your way just yet. You grab Tucker's hand and pull him into a little alcove. It's secluded enough, after all, it's about 11:30pm at night and so dark out. The lights are dim and you're comfortable with that. Darkness is your friend. It always has been.

That way no one sees the scars.

But all of a sudden he takes the lead and now you're against the wall. You can feel the cement digging into your back a bit but you don't care because his hands are everywhere, his calloused fingers slide up against your torso, your stomach, up and all of a sudden he has your breast in your hand and, fuck, just keep doing that. Now his body is against you and you feel how hard he is and you just want to rub yourself against him until you come but where's the fun in that?

His mouth is hot and wet on yours, his tongue thrusting in and out and tangling with yours and oh my god where did he learn to do that with his hands. You moan a little and that seems to spur him on because he's now kissing your neck, your throat, any bit of exposed skin he can get his mouth on.

And thank God your blouse is button down, but your fingers seem to be having trouble undoing the buttons so he decides to give you some help. "Goddammit, Tucker, how are you so good at this?" You mumble against the heat of his neck, your hands now reaching for his belt.

"Benson, are you sure you want to do this?" His voice is even raspier now and so low that you can barely hear it.

"Tucker, you backing out on me?" You demand because even though you appreciate that he's being thoughtful, goddammit, you need this and you need it fucking now. Weeks of foreplay, subtle and not so subtle, have made you hot and wet and, god, you just want to feel him inside you, fucking you.

"Benson..." he sighs, a little hint of exasperation...or is that frustration... probably frustration if he's at all near the point you're at.

"Tucker." You breathe, nipping at his neck.

"Fuck it all. Goddamn, you taste of Cracker Jacks." He grabs a bit of your hair, and the roughness doesn't bother you because you trust him.

"Is that a problem?" You gasp out. God, if this keeps up you won't be able to talk anymore. Possibly permanently because all your breath will be gone forever. And if those goddamned Cracker Jacks are going to be an issue, you're swearing them off forever.

"Hell, no."

And he's kissing you like he can't get enough. Like you're a bottomless glass of bourbon and he hasn't had a taste in years. And you hook one leg around his, and you're a little glad his trench coat is hiding some things because you're not totally ready to be caught for public indecency, even though the night is now totally still. Except for the sound of honking NYC horns and the occasional yelled curse in the distance. You feel the cool air running over your exposed chest and your nipples are so hard. Like diamond hard.

You always would laugh when you'd read crap like "her nipples were so hard they could cut glass" - Rollins would bring in a romance novel for kicks and you'd both laugh at how ridiculous they were. But now you know why they write that.

_I will never mock that phrase again._

_Goddammit, Tucker, no more fucking waiting._

Somehow your pants are now around your knees. And he has both hands braced against the wall.

He looks at you, a slight question in his eyes. "Protection?" Is all he asks.

"I'm good." You gasp. "On the pill."

You just pull him into you and holy god he's so good. He's big but not too much for you to handle. He's so fucking hard. And he starts off slow, just rotating his hips and pressing his cock into you.

_Holy fuck._

And the pressure's building already because it's been a bit of a long time for you and you've been so ready for this for awhile. You put your arms around him and pull him into. _In...out...in...out_.

"God, Ed.." is all you can manage to say in between his thrusts. He says absolutely nothing at all but bends to your neck and nips at you a little. And you shake. And your nipples are so hard as he cups your breast. You lean your head back and now you can't feel the hardness of the stadium alcove at all, all you can feel is his cock in you and the racing of your heart. The blood's pounding in your ears and...just a little bit further...

And he's picking up the pace, sensing that you're so close. And you feel his hand reach down to press you right on your clit. He pushes down just a little, just enough...and he slams into you one...more...time and you, you, you're coming and you moan...you want to scream but you don't want the wandering security guards to hear you. So you grab on to his back and your body spasms and he slams into you again once, twice, three times and he comes too and it's all warm and perfect and oh my god you're still coming.

He groans against your neck and both of you are sweaty, dirty, and, God, it was fucking amazing. You run your mouth on his throat.

He laughs a little softly. "God, Benson, you're...you're something else."

"Right back at you, Tucker." You grin from underneath the hair that's fallen into your eyes and pull up your pants.

He buckles his, leans over and kisses you once more, hard. And he tastes so good.

Apparently, you do too because as the two of you walk to his car, he whispers into your ear: "Remind me to buy you some more cracker jacks."

_I hear my baby callin' my name_  
_And I know that she's the only one_  
_And if I die in Raleigh_  
_At least I will die free_


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Characters are Dick Wolf's and NBC's. Story is mine. Lyrics from 'Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop' by Landon Pigg and 'Fallin' For You' by Colbie Caillat.

Chapter 4: **Falling for the 'Enemy.'**

_I think that possibly, maybe I'm falling for you_  
_Yes there's a chance that I've fallen quite hard over you._  
_I've seen the waters that make your eyes shine_  
_Now I'm shining too_

As you remember that baseball game, a smile plays around your mouth. And you flush a little because, really, you just fucked Ed Tucker in public. And it felt good as hell.

He's taken your hand as you walk to the car and it feels good. Like the fit of him in your body, the fit of his hand in yours feels just right. And you feel yourself getting hot again. _God, Olivia, what are you…a randy teenager again? _

You squeeze his hand gently and he looks over you, giving you his slight smile. Since you've started getting to know him, he's thawed a bit, gotten softer but he's never truly given you a big smile. It's just not him. And you still can't bring yourself to call him _Ed _half the time.

He's always been Tucker to you and you're starting to think he always will be.

"Your place or mine?"

Leave it to him to be the one to ask that question. No beating around the bush. Just asks it straight up, the way he takes his bourbon. No frills, no fuss.

"Well, I have Noah…" You say slowly. Noah's just a baby but still… there's a little bit of awkwardness when you even think about bringing a man home to fuck your brains out when your child is sleeping in the next room. The last thing you want to be responsible for is scarring your son for life.

_Your son._

Never has the English language sounded more beautiful to you.

"How's the kid?" Tucker asks, taking the pressure off you for a moment.

"He has some health issues but right now he's doing great." You smile. "Really active. He breaks things which is a little worrisome and he can be a bit aggressive…"

"Benson, he's a _boy_." Tucker interjects. "They do that. Also, he's a baby boy. They're freakin' holy terrors."

"And you know this how?" You grin a little at the image of Tucker handling an active toddler.

"I've got some experience with little kids, believe it or not. And, no…" He looks at you, a slight twinkle in his eyes, "I do not interrogate them."

"Never thought you did." You're having a hard time repressing a smile at the thought of Tucker around children.

"Actually volunteered as a kiddie league coach back in Boston." He says. "Granted, they weren't toddlers but I know boys. Nothin' to worry about, Liv."

"You were a kids' coach?" You're floored and you can't get past the image of the tough IAB cop surrounded by kiddie league players.

"Yep."

And you're at the car.

"What're you thinking, Benson?" He looks at you speculatively.

"I'm thinking…" for a moment, caution and fear almost win out. _Screw it. "…._my place. Do you have to work in the morning?"

"Nope." His eyes soften and he gives you a slight grin. "You?"

"Day off." You say softly. "Just Noah and I."

"Okay, then. But it's my place next time."

"Next time? You're making a big assumption there, Ed."

"I don't think so." Tucker's eyes crinkle up in a smile.

"Then, if it's my place tonight, the least you can do is bring the Cracker Jacks."

"Consider it done. We'll stop at the bodega."

…

Your hands shake a little as you put the key in your door. You've called Lucy and let her know that you're on your way. Tucker's a man of his word. You are now the proud owner of eight bags of Cracker Jacks.

You can feel the heat from his body as you slide the key into the lock, fumbling with it a little more. _Goddammit, when did these locks become impossible to work with?_ Turning around, you almost run right into his chest he's so close to you.

"Nervous, Benson?" There's something like concern in his eyes. "We don't have to do this if you're not comfortable."

More than anything, these words settle your nerves and you meet his gaze evenly.

"I'm good." You say with a smile.

"Hi, Olivia!" Lucy greets you with a slightly strained smile and you wince a little, recognizing that smile.

"How was Noah?"

"A handful." Lucy said, slightly wearily, "But not too bad. He's never really bad." And she smiles. How she loves that little boy and he loves her too. Had taken to Lucy from the beginning and you're so thankful for her. "He's just a healthy rambunctious little boy."

"Thank you so much, Lucy." You say. "This is Lieutenant Tucker. We have some business to take care of tonight."

"Of course." She looks at you apologetically. "It's a little bit of a mess. Noah got into the toys again and I did my best to clean up but…like I said, he was a little more challenging tonight."

Looking around at the toys scattered on the floor, you chuckle a little. It really looks no different than when you're with Noah on your own. In fact, you've almost forgotten what the apartment's looked like without baby things lying around.

"Thanks so much, Lucy." You smile. "Have a good night. We'll see you Monday morning."

"Okay. Goodnight, Olivia."

And she's gone and you and Tucker are alone. You laugh at the expression on his face as he stares at the toys on the floor.

"I did warn you." You grin.

"I've seen worse." He shrugs, smirking a little as he moves one of the toys off the couch.

"Well then." All of a sudden your throat is very dry and you're very aware that the two of you are alone, Noah's asleep, and….

He kisses you before you have a chance to think.

It's not as frenzied, as quick as it was before. You have all the time in the world and the world is far, far away.

You both quickly remove your jackets. You toss yours on the floor and note in amusement that he drapes his carefully over the arm of the sofa.

He pulls you into the warmth of his body and starts moving his mouth along your jaw line. Already, you feel damp and hot and you start squirming against his body. His reaction is immediate and he's as hard as steel as you press your pelvis into his. "God…" you groan against his mouth, "Ed…God…"

"Tell me about it." He mutters huskily as his hands roam along your body. His fingers shaking slightly - which turns you on even more because you love seeing his tough exterior start to crumble - he pulls your sweater and shirt over your head. You quickly unfasten your bra and all of a sudden you're standing there topless.

"Fuck, Benson, you're beautiful." He breathes. And you have to blink rapidly because it's been a while since anyone has told you that. And he runs his hand along your jaw, down your neck and on your chest, cupping your breasts and kneading them. Your nipples are so hard and you bite your lip to hold back the moans. And then he places his mouth on your breast and your knees start to shake.

"Hell, Tucker, I gotta sit." You gasp and fall against the sofa.

"I got no problem with that." He grins, kneeling at your side, his head on your chest. As he licks and suckles your breasts, you run your fingers through his close cropped hair.

The blood is pounding in your veins and you're squirming, arching your back and you just want all your clothes off now. _How the fuck does this man get me from 0-60 in under five minutes? _You wonder. _Is it because I haven't had sex in what feels like forever?_

And you know that isn't it. Because you've had some opportunities recently and you've turned them down. But you didn't with Ed.

Because you know his gruff exterior masks a good man. All the things he's done in the past…he's done them because his job required it. And you pity him. It must be so tough and lonely being a part of the rat squad, knowing that most cops, the cops you're trying to protect, despise what you do. Even though you're just trying to make sure they all play clean.

Because a dirty cop ruins everything. Ruins the trust of the people you protect and serve. Makes the fight to get justice for all that much harder.

Someone has to police the police. That someone is Ed Tucker (and IAB.)

He's a good cop who just has a shitty job. It's a lonely road, being one of the despised.

…

"Clothes. Off. Now." You mutter. He grins slightly but doesn't protest. And now that you can see him in the light, because it was so dim at that stadium, you can see his muscles. And the scars. Some of them long and deep. He looks at you impassively, possibly expecting disgust.

You bend forward and kiss his chest, running your fingers along it, showing him that scars are just marks. They don't bother you. They never have. Everyone has them.

You most of all.

And now he can see yours. All of the marks Lewis made against your body. Part of you wants to wrap your arms around your body so you can hide them but you force yourself to meet his gaze defiantly.

"I want to kill that bastard." Is all he says. And pulls you up so he can kiss you.

_Your scars don't matter. _

Within minutes, both of you are completely naked.

"Sit." You say, motioning at the couch.

He leans back on the couch and you place yourself between his thighs, running your mouth on his torso, on his hipbones. And you smile against his skin as you feel his intake of breath, knowing that he's not as unmoved as he pretends to be. And your mouth finds the head of his cock and you put your mouth around it. Tucker jerks in your mouth and you hear a faint groan.

Looking up as you suck him, you see him looking at you intently.

"Benson, you gotta stop that." He barks shakily. "Or this will be over before it starts."

You grin.

And he leans forward and grabs your face and kisses you hard. And now the kiss is hot, demanding, frantic. You slide off your knees onto his lap and position yourself over his cock. His hands rest on your side and he helps ease you down. And you help bring him into you. For the second time that night.

Although a sofa is a hell of a lot more comfortable than up against the wall of a baseball stadium. And more sanitary.

You rise up and then down and begin to ride him. You swivvle your hips from side to side and smile in satisfaction as he closes his eyes and groans. You run your mouth over his skin and discover that he really likes it when you move your lips against his collarbone. You feel him swell in you and now you're hot all over. And you move your hips again and feel him move up against you.

Hearing his soft groans, you wink at him and move again. Bending down over him just so your breasts are at his mouth level, you press your pelvis deeper into his, taking him as deep as he can go. He suckles at your breast and his thighs squeeze you. And you start to move a little quicker, the pressure inside of you building. And his body slides against yours...

Up, down…. Tucker's hands are guiding you now, his fingers playing with your clit. You're gasping now, your legs starting to shake. You want to prolong this but you can't because you have to come…you have to… and you can feel him shake beneath you. Both of you are so close. So fucking close.

Suddenly, he flips you so that you're on your back and he's on top of you.

"My turn." He whispers against your neck and he slams into you.

Holy shit. Holy shit. _Holy shit. _

He withdraws. Slams into you again. You're biting your lip to keep from screaming because you really don't want to wake Noah because that would be embarrassing and he needs his sleep but oh, oh, oh… you can't hold it back.

"Benson…" his voice is lower now, much rougher, "God… what you fucking do to me."

"Right…back..at you." You gasp.

_oh my god, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop… _and he doesn't. He runs his fingers through your hair, wrapping it around his hand, yanking it a little. You arch up and all you can see is him and the look in his eyes is so intense. Like you're his whole world.

His mouth is on yours, his tongue tangling with yours and now he's grabbing your hair again, nipping at your throat. And, he slams his cock deeper inside until, oh my god, my god, my god…you're almost…..and did he just nip at your ear?

And finally, finally, you let go.…your entire body exploding…his mouth is still on yours so he captures your scream and rides you until the orgasm melts through your body. And as you come you arch your body up to meet his slamming strokes and that's enough to send him over the edge.

With a low groan, he comes and you wrap your legs around him, kissing his throat, his shoulder. Any spare inch that you can reach without having to move too far.

For a moment, the two of you simply lie there, halfway on, halfway off the couch, damp with sweat, still panting.

And he looks at you with a funny expression in his eyes. You're not exactly sure what it is but something hard within you loosens.

_Aw, hell, I'm so screwed. _

_When did sleeping with the 'enemy' become **falling** for the 'enemy?'_

"You're gonna kill me, Benson." Tucker finally says, wiping his forehead, a half-smile on his face.

"That's the plan." You grin with an impish wink. "How about some of those Cracker Jacks?"

I_'ve been waiting all my life and now I found you_  
_I don't know what to do_  
_I think I'm falling for you._  
_I'm falling for you._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: **The Dangers Of Too Many Cracker Jacks**

Lying on your back, you can't help smiling at the memories. The first time you and Tucker fucked in your apartment was certainly not the last time. You blush a little bit as you remember how fiercely you and he went at it on that couch. Pretty sure you'd be doing some cleaning of those sofa covers. God, Tucker really was imaginative.

And really interesting things can be done with Cracker Jacks...

Looking over at the clock, you see that it's only 5. Hopefully, Noah will be sleeping for a couple hours longer. Enough time for you to get washed up and for...well... certain people to be out of the apartment before things get a little embarrassing. Noah's barely past one but you're still not quite ready to share him with a man yet...

"What's on your mind, Benson?" A raspy voice interrupts your somewhat gloomy thoughts.

"We should probably get up." You say, almost apologetically. He doesn't look surprised, though. Just thoughtful.

"Noah's going to be up soon and..." you trail off, trying to find a diplomatic way to say what you're thinking. Diplomacy's never been one of your strong suits; it's one of the things you hate about being a CO. Having to deal with the constant bullshit and having to deal it out yourself. You've always been a straight shooter. Politics isn't your style.

"You want me outta here before the kid wakes up?" Tucker says calmly. And you try not to be distracted by the fact that the only thing hiding his body is a sheet. You can't help noticing the scars on his chest, the fact that it's well muscled, with just a sparse sprinkling of grey hair.

"I...well...I just don't want to complicate things." You say, feeling guilty, but you're not really sure _why_. He doesn't look hurt at all – he's simply listening intently.

"You don't want your kid to meet someone who may not be a permanent fixture in his life. I get that." Tucker says. "Nothing wrong with that. You're protective. I respect that."

"It's nothing to do with you." You desperately want him to really _understand_ where you're coming from but you're not exactly sure why it's so important to you. You're not going to examine _that_ too closely.

"Benson, it's okay. You don't need to explain." You're trying to keep focused on his face but it's so damn difficult when the fucking sheet keeps slipping down his body. "He's your kid. It's up to you who you want in his life. Don't ever apologize for that."

He sits up and makes to sling his body over the side of the bed but you reach for his hand.

"Tucker," you say, with an impish smile, "he's still asleep and probably will be for an hour or two more."

"Benson, are you trying to get into my pants?"

"Well, I think I already did." You chuckle. "They look damn good on the floor next to my bed."

"I happen to agree." And he brings his mouth down on yours, slipping back towards you.

You put both of your hands on his face and your tongue is wrestling with his. And his body is on you again. This time the only thing between you is sheets and you quickly throw those out of the way. He slides his hips so that they're fitted against you and, oh my god, you don't know how you got so drenched but you did and you just want him in you but he's not quite ready to do that.

"Fuck you, Ed Tucker." You grit your teeth because your stomach is clenching, you can feel the blood racing in your veins and you want his cock inside you...now. But he's not having that. He wants to take his time with you this time. Because the last couple of times, it's been a relatively quick and hard fuck. So he starts to run his mouth down your neck, sucking and nibbling in places that make you so turned on you practically cum.

Wrapping your leg around his waist, you bring him even closer to you. "God, Tucker, you're gonna be the death of me." You gasp as his tongue starts doing funny things to your nipples. And you arch your body up towards his mouth.

"Turn around is fair play, sergeant." He responds roughly and when you hear the slight shift in his voice, you shake. He's shaken too and trying to hide it. You run your hands down his back and feel the slight sheen of moisture on his back.

Resigned to the fact that he's going to tease you a little longer, you decide to do some teasing of your own and roll your hips against his, feeling his hard cock against your thigh. And you smile to yourself as you hear a hitch in his breathing and a quiet groan. And you rub yourself against him even more and this time your mouth is on his neck and on his throat.

"Fuck, Benson..." he gasps.

"That's what I'm goddamned trying to do." You complain. "Goddammit, Tucker, enough with the waiting already."

With a muttered "fuck going slow", Tucker slams into you. _Ughhh. _You almost cum on the first thrust of his cock but you grit your teeth and hold on. He slides out of you and slides back into you again. Oh god, oh god, oh god, it's soooo good and, fuck, right there, right there.

And he slams into you again. It is taking all of your self-control not to scream but you don't want to wake the baby and...GODDAMMIT... and you can feel the pressure building in your womb, in your abdomen. You're so close and you love it how he just bites at your throat. You grab his ass and pull him in harder.

Ohhhhhh...

You're not sure where that moan came from, him or you? Your mouth and his are tangled together and he's starting to go faster and faster.

"Fuck...fuck..._fuck_..." he groans and he's coming inside you. And you clench your legs around his waist and now...it's your turn.

You explode. Again. And it's wonderful and everything you could have dreamed. Life's taken such a toll out of you that sometimes it's hard to remember the good. Amidst the mountains of darkness, the tiny flickers of light are difficult to see. You take the light where you can get it.

You've thought you've forgotten but now you remember.

Making snow angels in the snow. Looking up at the grey sky, sticking out your tongue to taste the sugar of the white snow.

Those rare, precious moments with your mother when she remembered that she loved you more than she hated herself.

When Judge Linden awarded you custody of Noah; when you held him close and sang to him for the first time.

Is it sad that you can count the happy moments of your life on only your hands?

You find a sudden tear trickling down your cheek and you hope he doesn't notice. _God, when did I turn into one of those women who got so emotional over a good fuck?_

Because maybe, just maybe, deep down you know it's becoming something more than that. And the thought frightens the hell out of you. This wasn't supposed to be this way.

Were you starting to care for Ed Tucker? After just one night of sex? Granted, it was fabulous sex but it was just sex. Nothing more than that.

It can never be more than that.

Can it?

"A penny for your thoughts, Benson." A rough voice startles you out of your thoughts.

"They're not worth that much, trust me." You smirk, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Holy hell, you're sore.

"Liar." He says softly, so softly you almost think you've misheard.

"Thanks for the fun evening, Ed." You say his first name so infrequently it feels strange in your mouth but you want him to know how much it meant to you without getting all mushy about it.

Sliding on his boxers and pants – God, that man has an incredible ass – he gives you a half smile.

"Do this again sometime?"

You hesitate.

_But what if this turns into something? What if you have to disclose? What if your squad finds out because, God knows there will be all hell to pay when they get wind of this. This isn't a good idea and you should stop this now before it goes any further. No, we're not going to do this. Nope. Not going to do this. _

_I'm just going to say no. Let him down easy_.

Instead, what comes out of your mouth is:

"Okay."

_Goddamned Cracker Jacks._


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Dialogue from '**Perverted'**, '**Post - Mortem Blues**' and the characters all belong to Dick Wolf and NBC.

Chapter 6: **Crossing The Line**

"_It is a risk to love. What if it doesn't work out? Ah, but what if it does." - Peter McWilliams_

It's been weeks now – or a month, perhaps – and you can't stop thinking about Ed Tucker. Maybe it was the sex – because, admittedly, the sex was hot as hell and it'd been a while since you'd been so thoroughly fucked. Even the thought of it was enough to make your throat dry. That little smile/smirk on his face as he left that morning. The muscles on his back as the sun falls on them.

"_Wow." You say as you lie on your back, enjoying the warmth of the sun falling through your window on your bare skin, still regaining your breath from the last round. You're not as young as you used to be and you need a little bit longer to recover. Because, face it, the only people who can have sex without stopping are those characters in those cheesy but graphic romance novels Casey used to smuggle to you for shits and giggles._

"_That was a good game, wasn't it?" Figures that'd be the answer he'd give. Tucker didn't seem to be the type to sit around and talk about his feelings. Almost like someone else you used to know but, no, you weren't going to go down that road._

_Never again. He was gone and he wasn't coming back. Tucker was here, in your bed, his body still covering yours. His mouth still caressing the soft side of your throat and even though you're so tired and Noah will be getting up soon, you can feel your body still responding. _

_Your nipples are hardening and you shift your body against him. And from the low rumble through his body and the stiffing of his cock against you, you know he's having the same reaction. You run your mouth along his throat and gently nibble at the lobe of his ear. He stiffens even more and it turns you on that you can get such a reaction out of him._

_You feel powerful. And you slide down his body with an impish grin on your face. He looks down at you with a look in his eyes that you can't place but it's soft and reminds you of the happier places. Where you were loved and you were cherished. But maybe you're reading too much into it._

_It's just sex. Nothing more. Nothing less._

_And you swirl your tongue around the tip of his cock and suck him into your mouth. "Jesus Christ." The words are forced out of him as if he wants to keep his reaction hidden and he simply can't. "Tucker," you whisper against his stomach, "last time I checked, I wasn't a deity." His body shakes slightly and from the rough bark of his voice, you know he's laughing. And then you suck some more and the slight laughter becomes a groan._

_Soon, though, he's lost patience with this._

"_Benson," he rumbles, "what did I tell you about pushing me too far?"_

"_I don't remember." You say innocently, lifting your head up from his dick. "Must have slipped my mind."_

_And he flips you on to your back. **Where the hell did he get all that energy? **You always thought it took men more time to recover. Well, he's proving that theory wrong._

_Placing his body on yours, Ed slides in gently at first. And it throws you because you've been expecting rough and hard, like the previous times have been. But, no, he's changing the game and the rules and doing it differently. Swivvling his hips against yours, you feel his cock going all the way home. You arch your back, bringing him further in until he can't go any further._

"_Ugh." You groan and under half closed eyes you see him smirk. He's not moving, except a little._

"_You're...enjoying...this." You gasp out and you're so wet and you're grinding against him. But he's not moving, simply looking down at you with a smirk on his face._

"_I plead the fifth." He moves again and, fuck, how is it that you're almost ready to come? It really HAS been a long time since you've had good – strike that – fantastic sex._

"_Dammit, Tucker. Move already."_

"_Patience, Benson. In good time." He slides out of you again and then when you're used to the gentle softness of his movements, he slams into you hard. Grabbing your leg, he hooks it high against his hip and adjusts the angle of his thrusting._

_All you can do is huff as he slams into you. _

"_Ohhh."_

"_Ugh."_

_Those are the only two sounds the two of you are making right now as your bodies slap together. While he's moving in you, his mouth is ravaging yours, his tongue dragging over your skin._

_And you're so close. So very close. You clench your legs around him as he continues to fuck you. Reaching between you, he touches you right where the two of you are joined and, god, if it doesn't make you even wetter. His hips rock into you and yours rock into his._

_And it's just the two of you. Looking up at him while your body is moving against his, you see a softness in his eyes, a tenderness that you've never seen there. His hand is running down your body, touching you with a gentleness you're surprised to feel from him. He's always been all sharp angles and brusqueness. _

"_Ahhh." And he's hit you in such a way that a minor shriek comes from your mouth and you bite down to prevent it from turning into a full blown scream that would wake your son. Oh God, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god. _

_You're at the edge and...just...a..little._

_Oh, yes. Right there._

_And you explode. Again._

_As your body seizes, you rock your hips against his one last time and he comes with you._

_Both of your worlds dissolve in flames._

…_..._

And now you're sore and achy. But it's all been worth it. Every single moment.

You hadn't wanted him to leave. But there was no way you were going to let him know that. So you just let him go with a smile and a non-committal "let's talk again sometime" type of comment. You never thought you'd be the one to use cliches but that's what you'd been reduced to because you didn't want him to see how much he had gotten to you.

It was easier just to let him walk out the door.

Like all the others.

…...

Gentle, soft, kind – those are words you don't associate with Ed Tucker. He's always been sharp angles and harshness. The cold slate grey of winter skies as opposed to the warm night of stars and romantic bistros along cobbled streets.

_Don't wait too long to see Paris._

No, Ed Tucker has never been _kind_.

But then you start to remember little things, clues that should have made you think twice but you'd been so stressed out, ill, and distressed at the time and just plain fucking mad, that you weren't in a stage to think reasonably about anyone from IAB.

You'd just been cuffed. And that tends to leave anybody in a foul mood. And you were the prime suspect in the murder of Clyde VanDyne. All the signs were pointing to you.

"_Did one of them attack you, overpower you?"_

"_It has nothing to do with this case." You glare at him._

"_It does if you have a flashback. People with PTSD get them all the time. A vet comes home. Hears a noise. Loses it."_

You remember being so angry. So very angry. You hadn't done this. You're not a killer. Why couldn't he just _see _it?

Years later, you know better. All the signs **had** pointed to you, your DNA was on the knife, he couldn't just take your word for it. Or his bosses would have had his badge...and then his head on a silver platter. People would have claimed he was protecting his own, started bitching about the _thin blue line_.

Time gives you a clarity of vision that the flu and the choking fear of the very real possibility of prison did not.

In his odd own way, Tucker had been trying to help you. Trying to make it appear that it was something you couldn't have helped. That you were in the grip of a powerful flashback. Granted, he had still believed you were guilty but you can't blame him for that.

If it had been anyone else and the evidence was that strong, you would have believed that person was guilty. You may have even thrown them in jail and tossed away the key.

"_Clyde attacked you in the alley, and it triggered a flashback...you were back in that position of complete helplessness...he had his hands all over you."_

And there'd been something in his eyes when he said that. Something you'd ignored at the time because you'd been so sick, infuriated and humiliated that he knew about the attack on you. You were absolutely not willing to give him more ammunition than he already had.

But there'd been a glimmer of something... almost sympathy?

…...

"_Did he rape you, Sergeant?"_

"_He did not." And you feel old. So old. He hadn't raped you – __**that time – **__but not for lacking of trying. The nausea in your stomach is overwhelming but you manage to keep it together._

_Tucker's eyes are shadowed and you can't read his body language at all. _

"_Why not?"_

"_Because I decided not to offer any resistance. Lewis gets off on the struggle." Please don't ask me how I know this. Please._

_And there's something in Tucker's eyes. Almost like a "I am so sorry this happened to you" look. But, no, that can't be right. Tucker's not kind. Not gentle. He just wants to nail your ass._

The more you remember, the more you realize, it's been there in front of you all the time. You just hadn't seen it. Not until now.

"_If there was a struggle for the gun and you pulled the trigger to save your life or the life of the little girl, that's a case IAB can close."_

He'd been concerned about you even then.

"_The Brooklyn DA is waiting for us to call him back. We'll tell him that we have not found sufficient evidence to dispute your version of the events. Good luck to you, Sergeant Benson_."

You do remember giving him an odd look. This had been the last thing you had expected from IAB...and Tucker. But you hadn't time to consider the ramifications of that statement then, Rita had been hurrying you out the door.

Maybe it's true what people say...the line between love and hate is very thin. And you take one step, one small step, and you find yourself crossing the line. That invisible line that you've never even come close to before because you never knew it was an option. Suddenly, you find that the thought of passing over it doesn't really bother you.

Crossing lines isn't so scary after all.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: _Okay, this story decided to take a surprising turn on me so I am going to go with it and see what happens. This was a very hard chapter to write so apologies for any mistakes and errors. _

Chapter 7: **A Man of Many Secrets**

It's taken awhile but the cold seems to be over. Spring finally has decided to poke its head out after what feels like an interminable winter. Instead of slate grey skies that match the dreariness of dirty snow on wet streets, New York's been having straight days of robin-egg blue skies and warm sun. So you decide that it's time you take Noah down to the park on one of your very rare days off. (Which, truth to be told, aren't true "off" days since you've given your squad carte blanche to contact you at any time.)

It's still a little nippy outside, despite the sun, so you bundle your little love in a coat.

He doesn't like it and immediately starts telling you so.

"Don't give me that face, little man." You lean down, looking at Noah's pout. "You're not going outside without a jacket."

_But I don't want a coat. Why are you being so mean to me?_

Sighing, you try to ignore his pout – which is pretty hard to do considering he's so cute when he does it and it just melts your heart but, no, you're going to resist the eyes.

"No, Noah," you say as he tries to squirm out of the lightweight spring jacket.

_This is cruel and inhumane torture. Let me out of this…this…thing. If you loved me, you wouldn't do this._

"Noah, you're going to wear that coat. Don't give me those eyes."

When you get out in the sun, it's brisk but it feels so nice after those long and cold days because at least this briskness has warmth around the edges. This past year you've felt that not just the city, but you also, have been stuck in a state of perpetual winter, with a chill that plunged straight to your bones and into your soul. There was no warmth there at all.

But then there came Noah. And there was warmth, and sun, just pure sun.

There's a little park not too far away where you both like to go. Plenty of children go to play there with their parents and Noah likes to interact with them. You've been pleased to see that despite his occasional issues with sharing things (and breaking things), he's a very friendly, loveable child. And so happy.

"Want to go in the swing, Noah?" You put him in it and start pushing him. And Noah squeals with delightand laughs. You smile because his laughter is music to your ears and you'll never get tired of listening to it.

_PUSH. ME. HIGHER. MOMMY._

And for a long moment, it's just you and him in your own little world and he's looking at you with such trust and happiness in your eyes that you feel yourself briefly overwhelmed by emotions that you've tamped down for so long they've become a bit foreign to you.

There have been few people that have truly loved you and no one – until Noah – who has loved you unconditionally.

You keep pushing him on the swing and he keeps laughing and babbling. And you never want him to stop. Never want him to lose that delight, that innocence, that joy – not the way you had.

You would protect him as long as you could.

He's only been with you for a short time but you've fallen completely in love and, regardless of DNA, he is _yours_.

You wish these afternoons could last forever. But, of course they won't, good things never last. But, at least, when you're with Noah, you believe that they can.

Even though fate always seems to decree otherwise.

"Good afternoon, Sergeant." You hear a familiar rough voice next to you.

"Lieutenant Tucker." You stand up in surprise. "What are you doing here? Is there something wrong?"

He just looks at you, a faint smile on his face. "Benson, you're always assuming the worst."

"In my job, it normally is." You say, distractedly, eyes halfway on Tucker and halfway on Noah. "You have to admit, Lieutenant, you don't normally track me down unless something's really wrong."

"Is that so?" He quirks one of his eyebrows at you and smiles a little. And all of a sudden you're remembering the last few times when he's tracked you down. And you hope that he doesn't see you flush.

"Let me set your mind at ease, then. This is just a social call."

"Sorry if I'm a little distracted but I've got my son with me." You say but you're not looking at Tucker, you're smiling at Noah.

_Your son_. Two words you never thought you'd ever hear coming out of your mouth. Because you never thought life would be good enough to give you that gift.

Life has screwed you over so hard, ever since the moment you were born, that you've stopped hoping for, stopped expecting anything good to come out of it. For so long your life had been full of darkness, full of people leaving, that you had stopped expecting anything else.

But then Judge Linden had awarded you custody of Noah.

_Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in endless light_.

"You've got a good kid there." Tucker comments.

"He can be a handful." You laugh.

_Mommy, I said I was sorry about the froot-loops..._

Noah frowns a little. _Who is this man who is interrupting Mommy/Noah time? I don't like him. He's grumpy looking. Mommy. Stop talking to the grumpy man._

"I'm sorry, Noah." You look at him. "Mommy's right here."

"I apologize. This is a bad time." Tucker says, turning to leave. "I don't want to interrupt your time with your son."

"No, it's quite all-right. Noah has to learn to share." You look at him fondly. "Don't you, little man?"

_No, I most certainly do not._

And you want to laugh a little because your son is eyeing Tucker as if he's the baby food he so despises.

_I don't like mushed peas and I certainly don't like you_.

"Come here, kiddo. Mommy has to talk to Lieutenant Tucker."

_No, you don't. Today is __**our**__ day._

Noah's definitely not happy about being lifted out of the swing and he makes his feelings known. Loudly.

"Shhh, little man." You bounce him, trying to get him to calm down.

_I wanna stay in the swing!_

"I'm sorry about him." You say apologetically. "He's a little crabby when mother/son time is interrupted. We're still working on the whole concept of sharing."

_Okay, I see we're still not on the same page with this whole 'sharing' thing..._

"Understandable. I'm not too surprised. He's had his fair share of foster homes, hasn't he?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I'm hoping that this is his last and permanent stop." You smile at Noah.

"For his sake – and yours – I hope so as well." Tucker's face softens with a half smile. Something flutters in your chest but now is not the time to take too close a look at it. But it's something you felt before, just not in a long, long, long time.

Just at that moment, your cell phone goes off. You recognize the ring tone. It's one of your squad members and they wouldn't contact you on your day with Noah if it wasn't pretty important.

"Tucker…" you say, a little embarrassed… "would you mind holding Noah for one moment?"

For a moment, he looks a little thrown off stride and you're a little worried that he might dash in the opposite direction. Because Tucker and kids… that's never something you've imagined even in your absolutely wildest and craziest dreams. It's just too strange.

But he surprises you.

"Come here, kid."

Noah's face screws up into a large frown. _I don't want to come to you. I want MOMMY._

You look at Noah. "It's okay, little man. I'm not going anywhere."

The irony of that statement doesn't strike you until later.

"Kid." Tucker says. "Let her talk."

Noah gives Tucker a considering then opens his mouth again.

"Stop."

_But I don't want to._

Yet Noah stops.

And you hand him over to Tucker, half expecting him to hold him as Rafael Barba does, like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. Just the remembrance of that makes you chuckle. Still. And you don't let him hear the end of it.

But what's surprising to you is that Tucker holds Noah like he's done it his whole life. As you redial your squad, you keep a sharp eye on the two of them. Noah still looks like he's eating mushed peas but he's not fussing and Tucker's just holding him like he's a professional baby-holder. If there even was such a thing.

Just how many secrets does this man have?

"Benson here. You called?"

"Sorry, Sarge, it wasn't me." It was Rollins.

"Hm, did Nick try to reach me? Carisi?"

"I could ask but they're out working a case."

"Say no more. I'll check with them later."

You hang up and frown at your phone. Only a few seconds later, it rings again.

Same number.

"Benson here. What's the emergency?"

"Why, hello, Detective Benson...no, wait, it's Sergeant now, isn't it?" A chill runs down your spine. You've heard that voice before but it's been years.

Fifteen, to be exact.

"Richard White."

"I've missed you, Detective. I hope you don't mind that I call you that. It's how I first met you, brings to mind the good old days."

"Where the hell did you get this number?" You turn away from Tucker and Noah – you don't want either one of them to see the expression on your face.

"Ah, ah, ah...no telling secrets." His chuckle is low and slimy and it wreaks of darkness and malice. You've been through a lot since your first meeting so many years ago but even so, you can't help but shudder.

"How the hell did you get out?" You hiss, glancing quickly over your shoulder. Noah is looking intently at Tucker but doesn't look scared.

"Ah, now _that_ is a story for another time. Perhaps when you're not busy with your son?"

And that winter chill is back, searing you to your core.

"I don't know how you got out. But I will find you. And I will end you." You almost don't recognize your voice, so choked it is with anger and rage. _You will not talk about my son. You will not_.

"I forgot how pleasant it was to talk to you." White chuckles easily. "But fear not, all good things in their own time. We will meet again. See you soon, _Olivia_."

And all you can hear is the ring tone reverberating in your ear, in your heart, in your soul.

Unconsciously, your shoulders slump.

_Good things never last_.

…...

You pull yourself together, plaster a smile on your face, and make your way back to Tucker and Noah.

But even Noah's beaming face isn't enough to ease the fear gripping your heart.

"Hey, baby boy," you open your arms, hoping that your little boy would bring back some of the warmth that had fled your heart with that phone call.

_Mommy, that grumpy man isn't so bad after all. _

"Thanks for holding him, Ed." You smile sheepishly. "Sorry for putting you on the spot."

"Not a problem." He scans your face narrowly. "Everything okay, Benson?"

"Yes, of course." You smile. "Just a prank call."

His eyes narrow. You thought you were good at putting on a poker face but you can tell he's not buying it. Not for one moment. But he doesn't push.

Like you told him once, maybe he _is_ getting soft in his old age. He's gotten positively soft. Well, soft in some areas. Definitely not in others.

You flush. Again. _God, Benson, get your head out of the gutter._

A little babble interrupts your meandering thoughts, much to your profound gratitude.

_Okay, Mommy, enough talking to the grumpy man. Let's go eat some ice cream._

"I'm sorry, baby." You tell him. "Let's get you home for your nap and vegetables."

_Or not. _

_Being a baby sucks._

"It was good to see you, Tucker. Thanks for stopping by." And he starts to walk off, then, rather abruptly, turns around.

"Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night." He says. "Italian. My treat."

And you want to say yes but then you remember Richard White and maybe it wasn't a good idea to get too close to anyone. Not right now.

It's enough that he has you in his crosshairs. And Noah too. You pull him tightly close to you and he whimpers a little.

_Mommy, too tight._

Despite your internal objections, you hear yourself say, "Yes."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note**: _The Richard White twist even took me by surprise and I'm not quite sure where it's going. So bear with my mistakes. :) I hate it when a story decides to go in a totally different direction that what you planned!_ :)

Chapter 8: **I've Got You Under My Skin**

You walk into your squad room and put your phone down on Amaro's desk. "Can we trace a call that was made to this phone?" You demand. "Like right now?" Nick looks up, slightly startled. "Sure. But what's goin' on, Liv?"

"Someone called me on my cell phone this morning." You say angrily. "While I was with my son. A perp I put away over 15 years ago. I want to know how the hell he got this number and why the hell wasn't I notified by the parole board that he was not let out?!" Normally, you'd try to handle this yourself, or at least keep most of your squad out of it, but you're rattled.

"Who we talkin' about, Liv?" Fin asks calmly. _Calm down, babygirl_.

"Richard White, I handled his case before you transferred over." You pull yourself together. "He was a local realtor. Real piece of work."

"That one who stalked you, right?"

"That's right. The rapist."

"And he called you?" Fin frowns. "He can't be doin' that."

"I was with Noah, in the park. Fin, he knows. All about Noah." You're keeping it together for your squad but it's taking a considerable effort. You've come so far since Harris and Lewis... and it's not just you any more. Noah is so helpless and vulnerable and you know White. He knows how to get under your skin.

If he goes after your son...

You shake your head, bringing yourself into the present moment. Hypotheticals aren't helping. You need to find out how he was paroled and why you weren't notified that he was let out. You walk into your office, sit down, and check your email.

_Sergeant Benson,_

_This is to inform you that Richard White has been released on parole by the State of New York..._

It proceeds to tell you that White has been a model prisoner, blah, blah, blah, and here were the terms of his parole, the conditions by which he must abide and if you have any concerns or problems, contact the Parole Board.

Well, he's already violated one of those conditions but, at this point, you've got no way to prove it. They'd run the spoofed number and it belonged to a burner phone which he's probably discarded by now. So all the evidence they have now is your word.

Rubbing your face, you wonder how in the hell all the shit just happens to land in your lap?

Since he's made contact with you, One PP has to be notified. As the acting CO of your unit, you can't just sweep this under the carpet and hope to handle it yourself. Best to get ahead of this before it all goes to hell and you end up catching shit from the ivory tower for not letting them know beforehand. One thing they really, really hate is being cut out of the loop. Biting your lip, you curse – not for the first time – the day you decided to take the Sergeant's exam – and dial One PP.

Sometimes you really wish being a simple detective.

_God, poor Cragen. I don't know how he put up with all this bureaucratic bullshit._

But you know he did it because he had to. Because he loved the City and he wanted to protect it. So he was willing to put up with all the bullshit and all the ass-kissing to make sure he could help keep it safe.

You really miss Don.

_**Nothing changes. Except what has to**_**.**

But you're happy for him. From all accounts, he's truly content. And you envy him a little, wondering if it was possible that the same happiness would be possible for you. With Richard White on the loose, the chances of _that_ happening were looking slimmer and slimmer.

You look out into the squad room and wonder how much longer you can keep doing this. Whether this was fair on Noah. The danger, the irregular hours, none of it was exactly conducive to a stable home life. And, God, how you wanted to give Noah that. Something normal. Something not...this.

Nick raps on your door. "Sergeant, everything okay?"

"I got it." You sigh. "Richard White's a perp I put away back years ago. And it looks like he's back again. He contacted me this morning, you heard me tell Fin that." He nods.

"I had to contact One PP." You say. "I'm not sure what they're gonna do. But I had to give them a head's up."

He nods. "Need me to stay over tonight? I can take the couch."

"That's sweet, Nick." You smile. "But I'll be okay. I think he's just bluster at this point."

"Liv," Nick points out, "he's raped and killed. He _stalked_ you, for Christ's sake. This guy wants _you_."

"How much did Fin tell you?" You ask exasperatedly.

"Enough. The rest I figured out on my own. I'm not stupid, Liv. This guy has a hard on for you."

"I got this under control, Nick." You say confidently.

Nick looks really skeptical but decides not to push his luck. "Just be careful." He says, concern in his eyes.

"I will. Thanks. You're a good partner." You say, smiling. And he is.

You couldn't have asked for a better squad.

…...

Almost forgetting about your date for Tucker, you curse as you realize how late it's gotten. You might just have time to get home and spray some perfume.

_God, this is just perfect. I'll show up for dinner smelling like Chanel and grimy New York streets. He'll not ask me out again_.

But, thankfully, you get home with enough time to take a quick shower. And you pick out a black dress that you'd gotten as a gift from Simon a long time ago for your birthday. While he certainly hasn't been the brother you'd wanted him to be, occasionally he could be thoughtful. (Although you're sure the dress had been picked out by his then-fiancee.)

It was black, satin and lace, strapless and clung to your curves like a second skin. The skirt stops a few inches above your knee, making your legs go on for miles. Or so you've been told. You're always a little skeptical of compliments like those – what does legs going on for miles even mean, really? And, yet, although you're looking forward to tonight, you can't help thinking that White's out there planning his next move.

You plaster a smile on your face for Lucy, hoping she doesn't suspect that something's wrong.

"You look great, Olivia." Lucy's so sweet and you're so lucky to have her.

"Thank you. You have my number. If _anything_ happens," you look seriously at her, "you call me right away."

Lucy looks a little non-plussed, probably because you tell her that all the time and, of course, she knows to contact you if there's a problem. But she doesn't argue. "Of course."

Hearing a sharp rap at the door you open it and Tucker's standing there. He's wearing a white shirt but with no tie, his collar unbuttoned, and a black blazer with black slacks. Not too terribly different from his normal office attire and yet...is that a whiff of expensive cologne you smell...no, it must be your imagination.

Giving Lucy a final smile and grabbing your coat, you walk out the door and close it behind you.

"Mmm, Lieutenant Tucker," you smile, "you clean up nicely."

And there's that half smile of his that you're starting to find pretty endearing. "I could say the same for you, Sergeant Benson." He's so very close, you can feel his breath on your face. "You look

_Dammit, Tucker, what are you waiting for?_

Leaning forward, he kisses you. It's warm and affectionate and surprisingly sweet, there's not the fierceness there that had been there in your first several couplings. You kiss him back, your hands rubbing his arms. He deepens the kiss and eases you against the wall, hand against the back of your head. And, for whatever reason, you just keep on kissing, running your hand up and down his chest. Not pushing for anything else, just relishing the heat of his mouth on yours, the feel of his muscles rippling under his shirt. And the definite reaction you can feel against your lower body.

He nuzzles your neck, your ear. And really doesn't seem to be planning on stopping anytime soon. You don't mind but your stomach is making a rather noisy protest.

"We're gonna be late if you keep this up, Ed." You smile softly against his mouth as he moves from your ear to your lips again.

"It's just food." His breath is hot against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

"Yeah, but I'm a little hungry." You grin back.

"Okay, Benson. Have it your way. Let's go." He gives you one last hard kiss and lets you go.

"I won't be objecting to more of _this_ later, though." You grin at him.

He looks at you thoughtfully. "I'll keep that in mind." Before he turns to go down the stairs, you don't miss the slight half-smile on his face.

…...

The restaurant is tucked away in a rougher neighborhood but you're not worried. You can handle yourself and Ed certainly looks like he'd beat the shit out of anyone who'd look at either of you funny. He's certainly got a presence that makes troublemakers think twice about trying to start shit.

Pulling out the chair for you, he helps you off with your coat. Looking around, you instantly fall in love with the place. It's elegant yet very cozy, the lighting's low and there's not many people this time of week although Tucker assures you it gets very crowded on the weekends.

Although he's been convincing you to try more and more bourbon, you stick with cabernet tonight. "This is great, Ed, and thank you."

He nods. "Hadn't been here in a while. Thought it was time to go back."

"How long's it been?"

"A while." He's not forthcoming so you don't push.

"It's lovely. Anything you particularly recommend?"

"Anything is good. Place has been family operated since the 50s. Can't go wrong here."

"Well, you're helpful." You grin slightly.

"Look, Benson," he eyes you, straight faced, "we've just recently sort of gotten past the you hating my guts part so I don't know much about your taste in food."

You open your mouth to admit he's right when he adds, "Except that I know you really enjoy Cracker Jacks."

You flush. All the way to your feet.

_Damn you, Ed Tucker._

But you laugh.

"You do too." You retort.

"Never said I didn't." He quirks an almost-smile at you.

"Now," he says, abruptly all business, "what's going on, Benson? That phone call...it rattled you."

"Squad business." You say tersely_, _throwing up your "keep out" sign.

"Really?" He raises his eyebrow. "Because you told me it was a prank call. Couldn't have been about Richard White now, could it?"

...

_Dun, Dun._


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Recognizable dialogue and characters are not mine. Lyrics from The Police: "Every Breath You Take."

Chapter 9: **I'll Be Seeing You**

_Every breath you take_  
_Every move you make_  
_Every bond you break_  
_Every step you take_  
_I'll be watching you._

You're pretty sure your face is as white as a sheet right now but you try to bluster your way through it anyway.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You lie right to his face. Hasn't been the first time, won't be the last.

If facial expressions could talk, Ed Tucker's would be saying, "_Come now, Olivia, you know better_" right now. He's not buying your attempt at lying.

"Benson, you don't have to lie to me. You're not in any trouble." He says in that mollifying way which you're pretty sure gets many people to just start spilling the beans. Because he's IAB and, let's face it, IAB is pretty scary to most people. You're not afraid of them yourself but you don't trust them. And, although this thing with Tucker is better than you ever would have imagined, you still don't exactly trust him with some things.

You would be a fool to let your guard down entirely. You've not entirely forgotten the way he used to be even though he was just doing his job and you didn't exactly look innocent. The stakes are much higher now, he's still a somewhat unknown quantity, and you don't want to trust your fate to him.

"Is that what you say to people to get them to talk?" You ask wryly.

"Some of them. Is it working?" He gives you a faint smirk.

"It's really not that big a deal." You brush the whole topic of Richard White aside like it's merely a nuisance. Not something chilling you all the way down to your bones.

"Olivia." Ed looks at you and his eyes are very serious. "I know all about you and Richard White. Those reports aren't secret."

You freeze. Just how much does he know?

As if he was reading your mind, he says, "We know he took a strong interest in you. IAB has a way of finding these things out. Cops also gossip like little old ladies, Benson. There was no way this was gonna stay under wraps. You know that."

"I can handle this myself." You say, a little defiantly. You're not some helpless flower that needs someone to protect you. Elliot tried to sic protection on you once before and you'd been furious.

_Only rats stick cops on other cops_, you'd said. Or something like that.

You didn't need anybody's help.

"Never said you couldn't." Tucker says seriously. "But you're gonna need help on this one, Olivia. If IAB and One PP both know about this, there's no way they're gonna let you head up this investigation since he's clearly got a hard on for you. Besides right now, all you have is a phone call and you can't prove it was him calling, can you?"

"He was spoofing the squad number with a burner phone." You admit.

"He's gonna be very careful." Tucker rubs his chin. "He's out on parole so he's not gonna do anything that would get him caught and sent back to prison. But if he's already making phone calls to you, his fixation on you clearly hasn't stopped."

"Tucker, I got my squad working on this." You tell him, wanting him to understand that you have it under control. He doesn't need to see the part of you that is desperately afraid of what White could do this time. Because it's not just you any more. You have Noah – and there is nothing you wouldn't do for him.

And it terrifies you that White can use him to get to you.

"Olivia," Ed says quietly, his eyes now concerned, "you need to think about protection for Noah if White decides to escalate."

He can read you awfully well but he's been trained that way. That's what IAB does – they read you, find your weaknesses, and use them to get you to do things their way. You weren't going to have any of that. Yet, at the same time, you realize that he's got a point. You can't be with Noah 24/7, not if you want to do your job.

You take a big sip – well, to be honest, it's more of a gulp – out of your wine glass.

"I'll keep that in mind." You say quietly.

The rest of the dinner is spent in relative silence. The discussion about Richard White has killed whatever mood there was to begin with and now you can't stop thinking about it.

"Benson," Tucker interjects, "if White is doing this, we'll get him."

"That's not what I'm worried about." You say. "It's what he'll manage to do before we catch him."

As hard as you try, you can't keep the fear from leaking into your voice. It's a cold, insidious thing that wraps you in its tentacles, choking the warmth from your soul.

Tucker scans your face intently. "Olivia, you can't do this to yourself. This is what he wants. To have you running scared. He's a psychopath – they thrive on this. Thrive on the fear, the terror. Always have you looking over your shoulder. You let him do this, you let him win."

"It's not easy keeping him out of my head." You smile tightly. There are vulnerable places in your head still, even though Lewis has been gone a long time. And it's not always so easy for you to keep the demons out. Although Noah has gone a long way in helping to dispel some of the darkness.

He's been saving you.

"I get that." Tucker is surprisingly sympathetic. "I know this is a difficult position for you, Olivia. Let me – us- help."

You didn't miss that quick change of words, so you call him on it.

"Why, Lieutenant Tucker, are you getting soft in your old age?" You grin, tossing words at him that you'd said before, a long time ago.

His smile is wry but it lights those blue eyes of his which can turn icy and chill so quickly when he's dealing with a perp. Especially dirty cops.

"Maybe."

"Oh, I think that's a definitely."

"Not all of me is that soft, Benson." He smirks.

Was he coming on to you? In public?

"I'll have to see that for myself."

"That's not a problem." His voice is low and rough. And you know where his mind is because all of a sudden Richard White is not even on the horizon and you've gone still. And slightly wet.

_Oh, he definitely is hitting on you_.

And you're liking it. It's a pleasant distraction from the heavy conversation.

_A distraction...oh, Tucker, you sly, sly dog. I have your number_.

"Can we get dessert to go?" You smile. "Maybe have some tiramisu over a nightcap?"

"I'm not inclined to say no to that offer." He says seriously. There's no smile on his face but there's that something in his eyes which makes you shiver in anticipation. And you're thinking about the way he took you up against the wall that night, thrusting into you over and over again as you exploded around him. And you're remembering his hands caressing you in the early morning as you wrapped your legs around his waist and moved against him as he buried himself in you, his mouth running down your throat, hand gently touching you between your legs.

_Oh my God._

"Check, please." He says, perfectly in control. And all of a sudden you want to see him lose that unshakeable control that he keeps in place so well in public. You want him to come apart in your arms as he's done before.

He looks over at you and there's a slight smile on his face.

He _definitely_ knows what you're thinking. Damn that man.

So you both order the tiramisu – he suggests you share and for a moment you get some very interesting ideas as to where that could go but then you remember how much you really, really love tiramisu and firmly insist on getting your own portion. His only response to that is to shake his head slightly and chuckle.

"What?" You say defensively. "You don't simply share tiramisu."

He smirks again. (Sometimes you wonder if he only has two facial expressions; smirking and being stone-faced. And then you remember the look he gets right before he...well, maybe you'll see that later.)

"I disagree." He says. "But we can discuss that later."

_I know exactly how that discussion is going to go. And that it's going to involve lots of tangled limbs and not much conversation._

The best kinds of discussions.

He gets the desserts, pays the bill, and the two of you walk into the chilly night.

"This was wonderful, Ed." You say, more comfortable in using his first name now.

"I'm sorry I pushed you on White." He says abruptly.

"I'm sorry I lied. It's just a difficult situation and I don't want the PTB to think I'll be distracted and a hindrance to my squad. I can do this job."

"I know." He turns to you. "I don't doubt that. Benson, I know you and I don't have the best history here but I want you to trust me."

You raise a very skeptical eyebrow. You and Tucker have had some earthshattering sex and some good conversations but you still have a bit of a hard time separating the man from the IAB shield.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Tucker, but that's funny coming from an IAB man." You say, somewhat sarcastically.

"Olivia." He looks at you intently, laying a hand on your sleeve. "Everything I've ever done to you was part of my job?"

"Even Cassidy?" You snap. "Was almost getting him killed part of your job too?" And all of a sudden, you're inexplicably angry. How can he ask you to trust him when your history is laden with mistrust?

"That went further than I had anticipated." He says quietly. And is that _regret_ in his voice? "But," he adds firmly, "I did what I had to do to take down dirty cops. For what it's worth," he says quietly, "I am sorry that it escalated like that."

"You understand then why it's still difficult for me to simply trust your word." You say, somewhat mollified.

"I do." He nods. But then he moves closer to you. "All I'm asking is that you try." And there's something that resembles pleading in his voice. But you're not sure because he's so stoic and it's really hard to figure him out sometimes. It could just be all in your head.

You purse your lips and look at him consideringly. "I can try. No promises."

And you can sense, rather than see, the tension leave his shoulders. "Fair enough."

He moves even closer to you. "Can you trust me enough to let me..." He doesn't even finish before you pull him to you and you're kissing him.

And he's kissing you back. It's not gentle – he's not a gentle guy – but it's hot and it's warm and it's all sorts of good. It gets heated quickly and you can barely breathe.

Finally, you pull back. "Shall we continue this in a more private place?" To your slight embarrassment, it comes out husky and more like a purr than anything else.

"Your call, Sergeant." He's slightly breathless and subtly adjusting himself.

"To the car." You wink.

…...

You've told Lucy you're on your way and that she can leave when you get there. And there's a heavy silence in the car as he drives you back to your apartment. The tension is almost unbearable and you've _almost_ forgotten about the tiramisu. Almost.

You're already figuring out ways that the dessert can be best put to use.

The traffic is light so you get home quickly and both of you go up the stairs to your apartment.

"Wait," he says quickly, as you head down the hallway.

Turning to look at him, you're surprised when his mouth crashes on yours once again and you're pushed up against the wall, his hand roaming down your dress.

"Have I told you..." he mutters against your neck..."that you're beautiful tonight?"

Something hitches in your chest and you don't know how to respond.

So you just kiss him.

And your hand trails down his body, running lightly over his stomach and belt, until...

"Be careful playing with fire, Benson." His voice is low and rough.

"I don't mind a little heat." You whisper in his ear.

His hand is hot on your bare back underneath your coat. And then you reach for him...and you smile against his mouth as you hear him groan. His hips push against yours and it's clear that he wants you, right now, right here.

Pulling away, you grin. Tucker's famous control is starting to break, just a little. He runs his hand through his short cropped hair, trying to control his breathing.

"We're almost there." You reassure him.

But as you get to your door, you notice something lying against it.

It's a long box, from a florist shop.

And, all of sudden, a chill runs through your body.

"What's wrong, Benson?" Tucker's quiet voice whispers in your ear.

"I recognize that handwriting." Your voice is shaking. And you bend over to pick up the box.

Tucker lays a hand on your shoulder. "Benson," he says and now he is all business. "Don't touch anything. Evidence."

And you shake your head at almost making such a rookie mistake.

"What does the note say?" He asks and there's a strange note in his voice – one that you can't put your finger on.

"_I hope you had a nice date. Be seeing you soon_."

It wasn't signed but you already know who it's from.

_Dun, dun._


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note**: _I'm so sorry this chapter has been so long in coming. I've had dreadful writers' block and, unfortunately, I cannot guarantee it won't happen again. Thank you so much for your patience._

Chapter Ten: **Domesticity Amidst Chaos**

You frantically push into the apartment, your first thought only for Noah and Lucy. Noah is so little, he's just a baby...and White had been so close. _Too_ close. It was one thing when it was just you – you could take care of yourself. But now you have this tiny little human, who is barely speaking words, and he's totally and completely dependent on you for everything.

It's intimidating being a mother.

You've been a leader of a squad for quite some time now and that definitely has its challenges but this is different. It's a whole new world for you, with a whole new set of rules and challenges. But it also holds so much delight, happiness, and joy for you. Something you've never really had before.

You have a family of your own and you would be _damned_ if anyone would hurt what you had longed for your entire life. You would see Richard White in hell first before he came near your son.

"Benson," Tucker's voice sounds at your ear and you jump. You'd forgotten that he was even there. What had been a beautiful night had quickly turned into a nightmare and you just needed to get in there, needed to see your little boy, make sure he was safe. "Slow down," he says gently, his hand on your arm.

"I need to get in there, Ed." You hiss. "This is my son. My family."

"I know." Tucker responds. "But I think you need to let someone else take over. You're too close."

"This is _my_ child and he is coming after _me_. I _need_ to be involved with this, Ed." You look at him, challenging him to fight you on this. Because if it's a fight he wants, then it's a fight he's going to get. You are not going to trust your child to anyone else but you and your squad.

To your surprise, Tucker doesn't fight you on it. And you're immediately suspicious because it isn't like him to just drop it like that. But, over the last few months, he's been showing a considerable amount of empathy and sympathy so maybe he really is going to let it go.

But you really, really doubt it. Tucker may be more sympathetic but he's still IAB. And the last thing One PP needs is a NYPD cop going off half cocked on a stalker.

You go in.

"Hi, Olivia." Lucy greets you brightly. "Did you have a good time?"

You struggle to keep the strain out of your voice and smile back at her. You must have done a fairly decent job of hiding your fear because Lucy doesn't seem to notice anything amiss. And she's bright, she would pick up on that.

"Yes, it was wonderful, thank you, Lucy. Did everything go all-right tonight?"

"Oh, yes," Lucy responds quickly but then hesitates.

"What happened?" You seize on her hesitation.

"Nothing major." She says slowly. "Noah was pretty crabby tonight but I think he just has a little cold. I had a hard time getting him to sleep. And then..." she stops and shakes her head, as if to dismiss it.

"Lucy, what aren't you telling me?" You try not to act like you're interrogating her but it's so hard because that's who you are and switching "sergeant" off is not easy for you.

"It's probably just my imagination." She tells you. "But there were some odd noises around the apartment tonight. Again, I'm probably just being silly and I really don't want to bother you with a little bit of nerves."

"It's okay," you reassure her, "I'm glad you did." And you turn to Ed who has followed you into the apartment. You don't want Lucy to see the fear that's hiding in your eyes but you're not afraid to let a little of your guard down with Tucker. He's proven to be worthy of some of your trust, at least.

"We can get a squad car to come by here." He says lowly, out of earshot of Lucy.

"Is everything okay, Liv?" Lucy asks anxiously. She doesn't know what's going on but she can pick up on the tension in the room.

"Nothing to be concerned about." You reassure her. "Do you need a ride home tonight?"

"I called my brother. He should be here in about five minutes."

"Okay, you just stay put until he gets here, then." You tell her quietly. "I'm going to just talk to Lieutenant Tucker for a few moments."

You walk with Ed over into your kitchen, by the window. You want to be able to look out into the New York night and scan the horizon for any threats. You can see some shadows by the streetlights but none of them look menacing. Just people out late at night, staggering home from bars, or enjoying a stroll in the night air. The city that never sleeps.

"Benson..." he takes a deep breath, as if preparing himself for another argument, "given the situation, I think a protective detail is needed here."

"You're right." You say, a little surprised at the ease with which you agreed with him. But, again, this is not as it was before. You have someone else to think about now. And sometimes you have two people, when Lucy is taking care of Noah.

"Sergeant Benson agreeing without a fight?" He raises an eyebrow and scans your face intently.

"Don't get used to it." You say, putting your coat over a chair.

"Wouldn't dream of it." He says dryly. "Let me give a call over to headquarters. They'll be able to send a squad car out."

"I don't want them on me all the time." You warn him. "I'm capable of protecting myself." _This is for my son_. _I can't be near him all the time_ _and Lucy is not capable of protecting him if someone really wants to get to him_.

"Oh, I'm well aware." He comments dryly.

"Olivia?" Lucy's quiet voice interrupts. "My brother's here. He's waiting at the car."

"Okay, Lucy." You say. "Let me at least make sure you get to your car."

So you watch as she goes down the stairs and out to a waiting car. You've met her brother a few times before and you recognize him sitting at the wheel.

Then you shut the door behind you and it's just you and Tucker.

Alone.

In your kitchen.

But you're too shaken to really want anything more than a hot cup of tea. So you turn to the cabinets and start busying yourself, trying to hide the tremors in your hands. You're not afraid for yourself. You're terrified for Noah.

"Do you want something to drink?" You ask in a quiet voice.

"Some wine if you have it. But let me get it." He offers.

"Help yourself." And you hand him a glass. "Bottle's over there."

And you prepare your tea while he pours his wine.

"We'll get him, Liv." He says quietly.

"I know." You say. But you really _don't_ know. He got out of prison this time. And he's violating his parole and no one seems to know where he is. So you don't really have too much faith in the system at the moment. But you weren't going to say that out loud because you're supposed to be enforcing the system.

He comes over to you and gently rubs your arm. "He's getting to you. You can't let him do that."

"Dammit, Tucker, I know that." You bark, almost dropping your tea.

He doesn't say anything else, simply pulls you into his arms. "It's okay, Olivia."

"But it's not." You say into his coat. "You can't say that." And you _hate_ that he sees you weak like this but he's here and it's been a long day and you're tired and you find that you just don't care.

And it's soothing having him hold you, run his fingers through your hair. He smells good, a strange combination of cologne, the smell of rainy New York streets, and the fog that settles on the grass in the early morning. Instead of pulling away and putting up those walls like you've done so many times before, you linger there, feeling the warmth of him underneath your hands. And you find that, despite the terror this night has brought, you want him.

You want him to stay. More than anything.

"Are you goin' to be okay tonight?" He whispers, almost as if reading your thoughts. "I can stay."

Part of you wants to say no because you don't want him to think you can't handle yourself but the vulnerable part of you, the part of you that you've kept locked away for so long and from so many, that part says yes.

He looks down at you and you look up at him. And he looks concerned _for you_.

"Stay." You say quietly. "Please."

"Sure." And he leans down and he kisses you. And it's not one of his usual hard kisses, the ones that he does as a prelude to sex. It's gentle, it's brief, it's warm. It's surprisingly tender for that hardbitten IAB officer. "Let me make a call to HQ. Gotta get that squad car for your nanny and Noah. And need to run and get a change of clothes. Shouldn't take long."

"Thank you, Tucker." You smile wearily.

"Don't mention it." He gives you that half-grin of his that makes you weak at the knees. "I'll be back soon. Lock the doors, call if there's any problem. I mean it."

"I know the drill." You roll your eyes, a little exasperated at his protectiveness – you can take care of yourself – but touched at the same time. "I'll see you soon."

….

It takes him a little more time than you had thought, traffic was unusually heavy this late at night. You had gone to check in with Noah who, thankfully, was sleeping peacefully. Although, you note with concern, his breathing is a little labored and you know that if it doesn't seem better in the morning, it means another trip to the pediatrician. And Noah has already been through so much already.

"Sleep tight, baby boy." You whisper. "I'll be here when you wake."

The wind is loud tonight and causing branches of trees to scrape against the building. Normally, it doesn't bother you but with White on the loose, everything just seems to set you more on edge. And then you hear a sharp rap on the door. At first you jump but then you remember Tucker was coming back.

"Who is it?" You ask, just to be safe.

"It's Tucker." You open the door and you just find yourself so relieved to see him.

"Sorry, traffic was a little crazy tonight." He says, putting his night bag down.

"I'm exhausted," you tell him, "can we just plan on going to bed tonight?"

He scans your face. "Did something happen while I was gone?"

"No," you sigh, "but Noah's breathing is labored and if it doesn't get better, we'll have to go into the doctor tomorrow." Just one more thing to worry about.

"Get ready for bed then." He tells you. "I'll make you some tea."

"You know how?" You raise an eyebrow.

He sighs. "I may hate the goddamned stuff but I do know how to heat up water and put a bag in it."

"Okay," you grin, "I trust you." So you go and slip into your sweatpants and tank top. You're not in the mood for seduction tonight so you're choosing comfort over sexiness.

"Thank you," you reach for the steaming mug in his hand, "this is perfect."

"Glad I could help." Tucker says. "Can I use your bathroom?"

You nod as you sip slowly on the steaming liquid. It's delicious. And, all of sudden it strikes you how very _domestic_ this all is. He's spending the night, he's met your son, he's made you tea. Tucker's worming his way into your life, under your skin, and it doesn't feel weird, it feels _right_.

He comes out of the bathroom, dressed simply in sweatpants and a t-shirt that you happen to notice accentuates how very built he is. This is a man who keeps in shape and you can't help but appreciate the results.

"I'll sleep on the couch." He says, heading for a comforter.

"No, Ed." You say. "Take the bed. With me."

He looks at you seriously. "Olivia, you need sleep. And if you and I share a bed, there won't be much sleeping goin' on."

You give him a half-smile. "Don't you have any self-control?"

"It's not me I'm worried about." He winks.

"It'll be fine." You say. "I'm too tired for anything else."

He throws up his hands. "Okay, Benson."

So the two of you make your way into your bedroom and you slide into bed. As soon as he gets into bed, he reaches for you. "Ed..." you mumble and look at him. He smiles a little and says, "Don't worry. Not goin' to try anything. Well, anything much." And he kisses your mouth. You pull him to you, his hard body against yours, and the two of you just kiss. Nothing more, no reaching for each other's clothes, just your mouths against one another, his hands up and down your back.

He nuzzles your neck, sliding his hand on your stomach, under your tank and you kiss his throat. And then he stops and just wraps an arm around you and pulls you to him. The warmth of him wraps around you like a comforting blanket, his rough fingers soft on your skin.

And you smile and close your eyes.

It's nice, this domesticity. And, for a moment, you forget all about Richard White, looming out there in the shadows of the dark New York night.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**: Starting Over

**...**

**Author's Note**: _First of all, I am SO sorry for the delay. I got horrible writers block (it happens a lot) and I struggle with this story sometimes. Even more so after Manhattam Tranfer, dammit._

_That episode_ _threw a wrench in my plan for this story but I'll try to work with it. Benson has been transferred to Community Affairs and Barba is aware of her relationship with Tucker. It's not clear from canon that the rest of the squad knows about the relationship, only that she was removed from command. So, yeah, things are a little complicated with White on the loose, plus being let go from command._

_When I first started this story, Nick was a part of it and Liv was a Sergeant. But we all know what happened last and this season so… I'm going to try to make this story as close to canon as possible. Yeah, I know, I know – this is what happens when I don't update in forever._

_..._

Your first day at Community Affairs was mortifying. Oh, the people there were nice enough but you're no dummy, you could spot them looking at you when they thought your back was turned. _There goes Olivia Benson_, you imagine them whispering to themselves, _thought she was such a hotshot_, _now she's little better than a traffic cop. _

You were probably just imagining the looks of scorn and contempt but you felt so exposed now in a cubicle surrounded by half a dozen others, with little to no privacy at all. Not only that but you were unfamiliar with this division, which just made you feel like you were starting all over again. Like you were back in your rookie days.

The phone call only made the day worse.

You had slid into your cubicle with your customary cup of coffee, having left Ed fast asleep on his couch. It had been a late night for both of you. And you had drunk one too many glasses of wine – something that wasn't unusual for you these days. So not only had you been forced to wear a godawful polo and polyester pants, but you also had a mother of a hangover.

You gulped down your coffee gratefully, trying to push the events of the week behind you. Trying to forget the look of disappointment in Barba's eyes when he had said, "We are done talking." Rafael had been so hurt, the pain so visible on his face, it had struck you like a knife to the chest. _How could you not tell me,_ his face had said, _we were friends, Olivia_. _You should have trusted me_. But you had no response to his silent accusations and had simply walked away.

He hasn't talked to you since. But, although there was a rift between you now, a gap as wide as the Grand Canyon, you're fairly certain he hadn't been the one to rat you out to 1PP. Someone else had. Who it was, you had no idea, but you definitely had your suspicions. And so did Ed.

Just then your phone rang.

"Benson." You snapped, still trying to get rid of that headache with a copious amount of coffee. That bitter brew had become your best friend in the last several years – and you blamed Barba for that. You smile to yourself, remembering the times that he had refused to say one word until he had at least two cups of coffee.

"Nope. Still not talking to you." He'd say, raising his finger. "Not before caffeine." You were never offended because you definitely understood. But that didn't stop you from teasing him about his incurable caffeine addiction.

_"You're hopeless, Rafael Barba."_

_"I know." He'd grin at you. "But you know you love me."_

_"In your dreams." You'd roll your eyes._

You missed him. God_damn_ the people who had done this to you. God_damn_ the people who had set Ed up so neatly. You swore you were going to get them if that was the last thing you did as an active member of the NYPD.

Along with taking down a certain someone who was still lurking in the shadows.

"Well, good day to you too, what is it, _Officer_ Benson now?" The insidious tone of an all-too familiar voice set the hair on your neck on edge. _Of course_ he knew about this already. He knew everything. Not that they had tried to keep this at all quiet; 1PP had been quite delighted to let you hang out to dry.

"How the hell did you get this number, White?" You snap.

"Ah, ah, ah." White scolds you obnoxiously. "It wouldn't be fair to give away my secrets now, would it?"

"Fuck you." You spit, ignoring the raised eyebrow of another officer in a neighboring cubicle. You really hated the lack of privacy in this place. Such nosy gossips cops could be – especially when they had such fodder for gossip as someone like you. Everyone wanted to know every little detail about Olivia Benson, disgraced former SVU squad commander.

To hell with that, you weren't going to give them the satisfaction.

"What do you want?" You say angrily. "I'm not in the mood for games."

"It isn't your choice, _detective_." He spat back. "I spent years in prison because of you. _You_ aren't calling the shots anymore. I am. So you better watch your attitude. "

"We're going to get you, White. And when we do you're going straight back to prison, where you belong."

"Promises, promises." He sang tauntingly. "You have to find me first. Hopefully, before I get to that cute little boy of yours."

"Leave Noah out of this." Your hand clutches your phone so tightly you fear it might break.

"You made all the players fair game when you put me in prison." He growls. "Do you even know what they did to me there? Do you, _Olivia_?"

"It was nothing compared to what you put those women through." You hiss back.

"Don't try to make me feel sorry for you."

"Oh, don't worry, you won't be feeling sorry for _me_ when this is all over." He chuckled, sending chils up your spine. "You might be for your boyfriend, though."

You freeze.

"Oh, yes, Olivia, I know all about him. The Captain in IAB, right? The gruff silent type? Grey hair? Being investigated in connection to a sex scandal? My, your tastes certainly have changed, Olivia."

You don't respond because you know that's what he wants. Instead, you stay silent, forcing down the bile and nausea.

"So how exactly did you meet?" He asks you conversationally.

And you lose it a little.

"This conversation is over, White."

"It's over when I say it is."

So you hang up the phone. _Little fucker._

It rings again.

You don't pick it up.

It keeps on ringing. So you put it on silent and toss it in your cubicle drawer.

And your day just keeps going downhill from there. Your new boss seems like a decent person but right now you trust very few people – because you're really not sure how far up this conspiracy goes. So you keep to yourself.

"Keep your head down and out of trouble." Ed had counseled you, after the shattering meeting with 1PP and your subsequent department from the sixteenth. "And, for god's sake, Olivia, be careful. These people will do anything to cover their own asses."

"You're that convinced Eugene is guilty?" You'd asked him, holding his hand.

"Eugene was always a spineless idiot." He'd scoffed, looking disgusted. "But he's clever too. Always managed to pick the winning side – even if he had to throw a few people under the bus along the way."

"But you don't think it starts with him?"

"Hell, no. He's not that smart. I think there's someone else pulling the strings – and that someone has real clout with the NYPD. Cara must really have had something on them."

"I'm just sorry I couldn't save her." You had said with regret.

He had gripped your hand reassuringly. "You can't save 'em all, Benson. No matter how hard you try."

But you never like hearing that. Why couldn't you save them all? Why did some of them have to die? It was never enough for you to hear, "you can't save them all." Every time you lost someone, you felt like it was a personal failure on your part.

Oh, it was easy enough to tell someone else "_it wasn't your fault_" but it was impossible for you to tell yourself that and actually believe it.

You pick up your phone and this time you take it outside. You really don't want people overhearing _this_ particular conversation. God only knows you've already given them enough to gossip about.

"Tucker." He sounds tired. Worn out. And maybe he's a little discouraged too. He's never been the one to be accused of being dirty before, so this is a new position for him.

"How are you?" You ask, concerned. You've never heard that note in his voice before, that note of defeat and weariness. And you're a little scared.

"Hanging in there." You can hear a sigh in his voice.

"Any news?"

"Of the investigation?" He asks. "No one is saying _anything_. Not even my partner has given me much. This thing must go real high up because nobody's talking."

"Shit." You say.

"Tell me about it. How was your first day?"

You roll your eyes. "Have I ever told you how much I absolutely despite these polo shirts?"

Ed barks out a laugh.

"It's not funny." You growl.

"I know it's not." He says in sympathy. "But when that's your first complaint? Compared to everything else going on, that's a bit funny. C'mon, Benson, laugh a little."

Despite the situation, you find yourself laughing a little. Because he's right. You've been removed from command and are being stalked by a murderer and the thing you complain about is a lousy polo shirt.

"I heard from him." You're a little surprised to hear that come out of your mouth. With all the stress in his life – in _your_ life – you had wanted to spare him worrying about White.

You could hear a pin drop, he was so quiet.

"Ed?"

"I'm still here." He says and there's a tone in his voice that promises nothing good once he gets his hands on Richard White. "Did you get the number?"

"No, it was private. Probably calling from a burner cell."

"That fucker." Tucker spat. "Liv, I'm staying with you again tonight."

"Ed," you protest, "that's not necessary." Because, really, you can take care of yourself. You don't need someone watching over you. Plus, no matter how much you like Tucker, you're not used to having anyone else but Noah with you – and you do relish your privacy.

"Olivia," he says in his _don't argue with me_ voice. And you sigh with resignation because you've heard that tone before and when he gets that way, really, there's no use arguing.

"Okay," you say reluctantly, "but we're ordering Chinese this time."

"I insist on white rice, then. None of that healthy brown rice crap."

You chuckle. "White rice it is."

"In the meantime, do not go anywhere alone, do you hear me?"

Again, you roll your eyes. "Tucker, I do not need to be coddled. I also don't want to put my life on hold because of this asshole. Then he wins."

The sigh on the other end of the phone indicates that he's conceding your point but he isn't happy about it.

"Okay, just...be careful, all-right? I don't want to lose you."

"You won't." You smile softly at your phone.

"See you tonight?"

"Absolutely. See you later, Ed."

"Can't wait, Olivia."

And when he hangs up, there's a small smile on your face. Because it's nice to finally have someone in your corner. Someone fighting for _you_.


End file.
